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ROUND     THE     YEAR 


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ROUND  THE   YEAR 


A     SERIES     OF 


SHORT   NATURE-STUDIES 


PROFESSOR    IS*lSC.e' MIALL,    F.R.S. 

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WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    CHIEFLY   BY  A.    R.  HAMMOND,    F.L.S. 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  LIMITED 

NEW   YORK  :   THE   MACMILLAN    COMPANY 
1898 


RICHARD  CLAY  AND  SONS,  LIMITED, 
LONDON  AND  BUNGAY. 

First  Edition,  1896. 
Reprinted,  1898 


PREFACE 

I  HAVE  given  the  title  of  "  Round  the  Year  "  to  a 
series  of  sketches  suggested  by  the  natural  events  of 
the  year  1895.  The  principles  of  selection  have  been 
simple :  I  have  written  upon  things  which  happened 
to  interest  me  at  the  time,  which  seemed  to  admit  of 
popular  treatment,  and  which  had  not  been  fully 
discussed,  so  far  as  I  knew,  in  elementary  books. 
Another  naturalist  would  have  made  a  different 
choice ;  all  the  naturalists  in  the  world  could  not 
exhaust  the  subject. 

The  readers  whom  I  hope  to  find  are  observers 
(especially  young  observers)  of  out-of-door  nature, 
teachers  of  elementary  science,  and  all  who  care 
for  Live  Natural  History. 

L.  C.  M. 

LEEDS,  June,   1896. 


TABLE    OF   CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"MAN   SIEHT  NUR  WAS   MAN   WEISS " I 

INSECTS  AND   PLANTS   IN   MID-WINTER 3 

WHITE  OF   SELBORNE 8 

SNOW-FLAKES II 

BURIED    IN   THE   SNOW .          .  25 

BIRDS    IN    MID-WINTER .     .  26 

THE  DEPTH   TO  WHICH  THE   GROUND  FREEZES 28 

THE  GREAT   FROST  OF    1895 30 

UNDER  THE  CRAGS 32 

PHI   AND   THETA 38 

WHICH  ARE  THE  WETTEST  MONTHS  ?  .     . 47 

ANIMALS   WITH   AND  WITHOUT  COMBS 49 

THE    MOON 54 

SPRING    CROCUSES 64 

CATKINS 73 

THE  OIL-BEETLE   (MELOE) 89 

THE   CORN-RIGS   OF   BEAMSLEY   FELL .  103 


viii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE    CUCKOO 107 

BUDS 121 

THE    BOTANY   OF   A    RAILWAY-STATION        137 

SUMMER   TWILIGHT 140 

MIDSUMMER   BLOOMS 142 

HAY-TIME 143 

THE   HISTORY   OF   THE  CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES      ....  158 

CABBAGES   AND   TURNIPS 183 

DUCKWEED 192 

ROUTINE 199 

WEEDS 200 

MOORLAND    PLANTS 2O8 

THE   LOVE   OF    MOUNTAINS 229 

THE    REVERSED    SPIRAL 236 

GOSSAMER 240 

FLOWER-HAUNTING     INSECTS 248 

TENNYSON   AS   A   NATURALIST 252 

THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER    ...          259 

THE    FALL   OF   THE    LEAF 270 

AUTUMN   WINDS  AND  WINTER   FLOODS 278 

THE   SHORTEST   DAY  OF  THE    YEAR  .     .     .  288 


ROUND    THE    YEAR 


"MAN  SIEHT  NUR  WAS  MAN  WEISS." 

Jan.  4,  1895. — As  I  light  my  lamp,  and  sit  down  to 
W  write,  a  cold  north-east  wind  is  whistling  round  the 
house.  Thin  snow  whitens  the  hills,  except  where 
the  woods  and  hedges  stand  out  as  black  patches  and 
lines.  The  river  Wharfe  and  the  little  brooks  which 
flow  down  from  the  moors  are  edged  with  ice.  The 
sun  has  just  set.  To-day  the  moon  completes  her 
first  quarter,  and  is  now  high  in  the  clear  sky.  Mars 
is  faintly  shining  in  the  south,  not  far  from  the  moon, 
and  in  the  east  I  see  Jupiter.  In  another  hour 
Jupiter  will  be  brilliant  indeed. 

The  earth  seems  still,  and  cold,  and  dead.  Yet 
there  are  living  things  hidden  everywhere  around. 
This  morning  my  boys  found  a  live  caterpillar  of  the 
Yellow  Underwing,  lying  helpless  on  the  snow,  driven 
out,  perhaps,  from  its  underground  retreat  by  the  cold. 
The  experienced  collector  can  find  plenty  of  pupae, 
even  in  the  depth  of  winter.  They  are  hidden  away 
beneath  wall-copings,  on  palisades,  beneath  loose 
bark,  in  moss,  or  underground.  A  keen  eye  is  wanted 
to  distinguish  them,  for  their  colouring  is  strongly 

IE  B 


2  ROUND   THE   YEAR 

imitative,  and  their  retreats  carefully  chosen.  Nor 
will  keen  eyes  suffice  unless  there  is  knowledge  also. 
"  Man  sieht  nur  was  man  weiss"  says  Goethe,  and 
the  insect-hunter  verifies  the  saying.  The  trained 
naturalist  goes  about  in  the  winter,  and  sees  living 
things  everywhere.  The  eager,  but  uninstructed 
naturalist  can  hardly  find  anything. 

Many  years  ago  I  got  a  practical  lesson  on  this 
subject.  I  was  visiting  at  a  country  house  in  Craven, 
and  the  lady  of  the  house  showed  me  her  beautiful 
fernery  with  some  pride.  "  I  am  anxious  to  get  the 
Adder's  tongue  fern,"  she  said,  "  but  I  have  hunted 
for  it  in  vain."  I  knew  that  there  were  some  likely 
meadows  at  no  great  distance,  and  proposed  a  walk. 
We  went  two  or  three  miles,  and  by  groping  among 
the  mowing  grass  soon  found  ten  or  twenty  plants. 
The  only  difficulty  was  to  distinguish  the  leaf  of  the 
Adder's  tongue  from  the  rather  similar  leaves  of 
Hawkweed  and  Daisy.  The  plants  were  packed  up, 
and  we  walked  back.  In  every  field,  now  that  our 
eyes  were  opened,  we  saw  the  Adder's  tongue,  and 
said  with  some  amusement :  "  If  we  had  only  looked 
as  we  walked  along,  we  might  have  saved  ourselves 
the  trouble  of  a  long  walk."  At  last  we  entered 
the  grounds  again,  and  on  the  lawn,  five  yards  from 
the  front  door,  there  was  as  much  Adder's  tongue  as 
could  be  desired. 

Moonwort  is  another  little  fern,  which  is  reputed 
rare.  In  Yorkshire  it  grows  abundantly  on  certain 
stony  pastures,  often  at  a  considerable  height,  and 
would  be  considered  no  uncommon  plant,  if  it  were 
only  easy  to  distinguish. 


INSECTS  AND  PLANTS  IN  MID-WINTER 


INSECTS  AND  PLANTS  IN  MID-WINTER. 

Yesterday  I  walked  to  Barden  Tower  to  find  some 
Simulium  larvae.  These  little  black  creatures,  from 
one-eighth  to  half  an  inch  long,  cluster  on  leaves  of 
water-cress  and  brooklime  in  a  clear  and  rapid  stream, 
which  flows  down  from  the  moors  to  the  Wharfe. 
The  manoeuvres  of  this  larva  have  been  a  favourite 
study  of  mine.  I  have  watched  it  clinging  to  smooth 


FIG.   i.— Group  of  larvae  of  Simulium  attached  to  a  stone. 

leaves  or  stones,  in  spite  of  the  full  force  of  a  moun- 
tain current.  It  keeps  its  hold  by  means  of  a  sucker 
armed  with  a  circle  of  hooks  at  the  tail-end  of  its 
body,  or  by  a  somewhat  similar  sucker  just  behind 
the  head.  If  compelled  to  let  go  by  threatening 
danger,  it  disappears  from  view  in  a  moment,  but  the 
attentive  observer  can  by  and  by  see  it  wavering  in 
the  clear  torrent,  and  then  slowly  travelling  back,  not 
by  swimming,  but  by  hauling  itself  in  along  a  thread, 

B    2 


4  ROUND   THE  YEAR 

one  of  a  number  of  threads  which  are  stretched  from 
leaf  to  leaf  like  those  of  a  Spider,  a  Geometer,  or  a 
Tortrix  larva.     All  this  I  have  described  in  detail  in 
my  Natural  History  of  Aquatic  Insects.     A  few  days 
ago  a  brother-naturalist,  a  most  careful  observer  of 
Insects,  wrote  to  express  his  complete  disbelief  in  the 
suckers  of  the  Simulium  larva.  The  hooks  and  threads 
were  there,  but  no  suckers  were  required  or  supplied. 
In  some  disquiet,  for  my  description  was  already  in 
type,  I  set  off  to  procure  a  few  fresh  larvae,  and  repeat 
my  former  observations.     It  was  a  clear  frosty  morn- 
ing, but  the  Meteorological  Office  promised  us  a  gale, 
so  I  took  my  waterproof.     The  road  through  Bolton 
Woods  was  frozen  hard,  and  made  an  excellent  slide 
in  level  places  where  the  rain-water  had  turned  to  ice. 
Before  noon  the  sky  was  overcast,  and   a  south-west 
wind  blowing,  with  plenty  of  warm  rain.     However  I 
reached  the  brook,  and    got   as    many   larvae    as    I 
wanted.     They  were   motionless,  though  clinging  as 
firmly  as  ever  to  their  leaves.     It  was  not  till  they 
had  been  half  an  hour  in  my  warm  study  that  they 
revived  and  crept  about.     Then   I  picked  them  up, 
one  by  one,  with  a  camel-hair  pencil,  and  put  them 
into  a  clean  saucer  full  of  water.     They  adhered  in  a 
moment,  and  crept  about  like  Leeches,  applying  the 
fore  and  hind  sucker  alternately  to  the  smooth  porce- 
lain.    Time   after  time   I  repeated   the  trial,  and  it 
never  failed.     At  last  I  transferred  a  larva  to  a  clean 
slip  of  glass,  and  held  it  under  the  full  stream  from  a 
tap.     It  was  not  dislodged,  and  then  I  was  persuaded 
that  the  suckers  were  real,  and  not  imaginary. 

Cold  seems   to  have   benumbed   even    the   hardy 


INSECTS  AND  PLANTS  IN  MID-WINTER          5 

Simulium  larvae.  Insects  of  all  kinds  which  pass  the 
winter  as  larva,  pupa,  or  imago  are  nearly  always 
motionless  in  very  cold  weather.  Yet  not  quite 
always.  I  have  seen  (and  many  other  naturalists 
have  seen  the  same)  the  great  Water-beetle,  Dytiscus, 
swimming  about  beneath  the  ice  on  which  I  was 
skating.  How  do  the  motionless  pupae,  sticking  to 


X/Of) 
FIG.  2. — Coronet  of  hooks  at  tail-end  of  Simulium  larva. 

the  bark  of  a  tree  or   to  a  gate-post,  escape  being 
frozen  ? 

Gilbert  White,  in  his  account  of  the  great  frost  of 
1776,  says  that  a  thaw  set  in  on  the  ist  of  February, 
"  and  on  the  3rd  swarms  of  little  insects  were  frisking 
and  sporting  in  a  court-yard  at  South  Lambeth,  as  if 
they  had  felt  no  frost.  Why  the  juices  in  the  small 
bodies  and  smaller  limbs  of  such  minute  beings  are 


6  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

not  frozen  is  a  matter  of  curious  enquiry."  I  suspect 
that  his  little  Insects  were  Diptera,  such  as  Psychoda 
and  Trichocera  hiemalis,  which  had  escaped  the  ex- 
treme cold  by  sheltering  as  pupae  in  decaying  vegetable 
matter,  and  only  emerged  as  flies  when  more  genial 
conditions  had  returned. 

It  is  surprising  how  great  a  severity  of  cold  can  be 
endured  by  living  plants  and  animals.  Siberian 
Larches  endure  a  mean  January  temperature  of 
—  45°  C,  falling  to  a  minimum  of  —60°,  and  rising 
to  a  maximum  of  only  —28°.  Plants  have  been 
known  to  survive  after  being  covered  for  four  years 
by  the  advance  of  a  glacier,  and  abundant  vegetation 
surrounds,  and  in  places  overspreads,  the  great  glaciers 
of  Alaska.1 

Evergreen  leaves  are  probably  protected  to  some 
extent  by  unfreezable  contents  (essential  oils,  resin, 
turpentine,  benzine,  carotin,  etc.).  The  fluids  of  wood 
are  contained  in  capillary  tubes,  and  it  is  well  known 
that  under  such  conditions  even  pure  water  will  only 
freeze  at  a  temperature  below  o°  C.  In  the  same  way 
the  very  minuteness  of  certain  Insects  may  be  a  means 
of  safety  in  severe  cold.  We  know  little  of  the  fluids 
of  plants  in  the  depth  of  winter,  but  it  is  probable  that 
they  are  then  both  more  scanty  and  more  concentrated 
than  at  other  times. 

Animals  can  be,  to  all  appearance,  frozen  hard,  and 
yet  revive.  Ross  found  in  the  Arctic  regions  pupae 
of  Colias,  which  were  hard  and  brittle,  but  afterwards 
yielded  Butterflies.  Pierret  observed  the  same  thing 

1  On  the  endurance  of  cold  by  plants  see  Seward's  Fossil 
Plants  as  Tests  of  Climate,  ch.  iii. 


INSECTS  AND  PLANTS  IN  MID-WINTER          7 

in  the  Lime  Hawk-moth,  Lacordaire  in  Leucania, 
Xambeu  in  the  Goat  Moth.  More  than  two  hundred 
years  ago  Lister  had  noted  that  caterpillars  and  pupae, 
though  frozen  till  they  became  brittle  and  tinkled 
against  glass,  were  capable  of  reviving  completely. 
It  has  even  been  found  possible  to  freeze  a  Frog  to  a 
rigid  body  without  destroying  life,  but  the  trial  rarely 
succeeds.  In  all. these  cases  it  is  probable  that  a  part 
only  of  the  contained  water  turns  to  ice.  Complete 
freezing  would  remove  water  from  the  albumens  and 
other  organic  compounds  of  the  body,  and  would  be 
certainly  fatal.  An  extremely  low  temperature  would 
be  necessary.  Ten  hours'  exposure  to  —  i6°C.  was 
required  to  solidify  the  contents  of  a  Fowl's  egg, 
which  were  even  then,  in  all  probability,  only  partially 
frozen.1  During  the  freezing  of  many  solutions 
and  mixtures  partial  solidification  sets  in  first,  and  the 
fluid  residuum  becomes  more  and  more  difficult  to 
freeze,  as  solidification  proceeds. 

Even  when  we  are  aware  of  the  difficulty  of  freezing 
an  animal  completely,  we  cannot  but  wonder  that 
Mammals,  Birds,  Insects,  and  many  other  living  crea- 
tures should  survive  the  winter  cold  of  the  far  north. 
I  would  not  undertake  to  explain  how  animals  which 
are  unable  to  replenish  their  store  of  energy  can 
endure  for  months  together  a  temperature  at  which 
mercury  freezes. 

The  thawing  of  frozen  tissues  is  in  most  cases  even 
more  dangerous  than  the  freezing  itself.  Diffusion- 
currents  break  up  the  microscopic  structures,  and 
change  the  composition  of  the  fluids.  In  the  same 
1  Kochs,  Biol.  Centralblatt,  1892,  1895. 


is  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

way  the  mere  immersion  of  pieces  of  living  tissue  in 
pure  water  quickly  renders  them  unfit  for  microscopic 
investigation.  The  quicker  the  process  of  thawing  the 
greater  the  risk.  Hence  the  well-known  rule  of  treating 
frost-bites  by  rubbing  with  snow  in  the  open  air  has 
theory  as  well  as  experience  to  support  it.  The  noon- 
day sun  of  winter  is  more  deadly  to  plants  and  certain 
peculiarly  exposed  animals  than  the  midnight  frost 
itself. 


WHITE  OF  SELBORNE. 

Gilbert  White's  name  brings  up  the  most  delightful 
recollections.  I  can,  after  forty  or  four  hundred 
readings,  take  up  the  Natural  History  of  Selborne 
again,  and  brighten  with  it  that  last  hour  of  the  day 
when  work  is  put  aside,  and  the  house  is  still.  What 
is  it  which  gives  this  unfailing  charm  to  the  memoranda 
of  the  quiet  old  curate  of  Selborne  ?  First  of  all, 
he  had  a  considerable  knowledge  of  his  subject,  which 
is  a  condition  not  to  be  dispensed  with.  Then  he  was 
a  keen  observer  and  a  diligent  recorder.  How  much 
he  rescued  from  forgetfulness  by  that  habit  of  noting 
things  down  at  the  time  !  "  Half  a  word  fixed  upon 
or  near  the  spot  is  worth  a  cart-load  of  recollection," 
says  the  poet  Gray,  who  was  naturalist  and  antiquary 
as  well  as  poet.  White  loves  circumstance,  and  one 
is,  at  first  sight,  inclined  to  think  that  he  is  interesting 
merely  because  he  gives  you  all  the  particulars.  Try 
your  own  hand  at  writing  about  nature,  and  see 
whether  you  get  a  lively  narrative  by  setting  down  all 
the  facts,  great  and  small !  Voltaire  says  : — "  le  secret 


WHITE  OF  SELBORNE  9 

d'ennuyer  est  celui  de  tout  dire."  White's  method  is 
to  select  and  to  select  carefully  the  particulars  which 
have  human  interest ;  all  the  rest  he  leaves  out.  He 
displays  the  skill  of  the  old-fashioned  letter-writer, 
and  selects  from  the  particulars  of  which  his  memory 
is  full  as  carefully  as  Madame  de  Sevigne.  White 
never  forgets  that  his  birds  and  insects  are,  or  lately 
were  alive.  Too  many  naturalists  write  about  them 
as  they  might  write  of  Skiddaw  or  Stonehenge,  being, 
it  would  seem,  chiefly  solicitous  to  note  where  they 
are  to  be  found.  But  White  thinks  of  their  hardships 
and  expedients.  His  moderation  and  good  sense  are 
shown  by  his  keeping  well  within  his  own  range. 
Others  might,  like  Buffon,  develop  their  theories  of  the 
earth  in  magnificent  rhetoric,  but  White  is  content  to 
"  stoop  to  what  he  understands."  Few  naturalists  of 
the  last  century  require  so  little  correction  or 
explanation  in  the  present  day. 

The  frosty  weather  has  sent  me  once  more  to  read 
White's  account  of  the  snow-storms  and  frosts  of 
1768,  1776  and  1784.  How  different  is  he  from  the 
mechanical  narrator,  to  whom  all  facts  are  equally 
interesting !  White  thinks  about  everything  that  he 
notes  down.  Observe  his  reflections  upon  the  effect 
of  intermittent  cold  upon  trees,  and  shrubs,  and  bees  ; 
upon  the  endurance  of  cold  by  small  Insects  ;  upon 
the  occurrence  of  great  cold  on  low  ground  when  it  is 
warmer  at  places  a  few  hundred  feet  higher.  Notice 
too,  the  practical  turn  of  his  mind.  He  bids  the 
planter  shake  off  the  snow  daily,  so  as  to  lessen  the 
damage  due  to  repeated  melting  and  freezing  of  the 
snow  upon  the  shrubs.  He  notes  the  shrubs  which 


io  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

suffered  most  from  frost,  in  order  that  his  friends  may 
learn  to  plant  only  such  as  can  stand  severe  cold. 
This  is  of  a  piece  with  his  constant  interest  in  house- 
hold matters,  the  making  of  rushlights,  the  small,  long, 
shining  fly  which  lays  its  eggs  in  bacon,  the  holes 
gnawed  by  crickets  in  stockings  and  aprons  hung  to 
the  fire,  and  the  like. 

White  foretold  one  of  the  chief  applications  of 
Zoology  to  the  practical  affairs  of  mankind  in  the 
following  passage  : — "  A  full  history  of  noxious  insects 
hurtful  in  the  field,  suggesting  all  the  known  and 
likely  means  of  destroying  them,  would  be  a  most 
useful  and  important  work.  A  knowledge  of  the 
properties,  economy,  propagation,  and  in  short  of  the 
life  and  conversation  of  these  animals,  is  a  necessary 
step  to  lead  us  to  some  method  of  preventing  their 
depredations." 

A  little  elementary  Physics,  so  cheap  nowadays, 
would  have  greatly  mended  some  of  White's  explana- 
tions. He  thinks  that  thaws  often  originate  under 
ground,  from  warm  vapours  that  arise.  He  remarks 
truly  enough  that "  when  a  thermometer  hangs  abroad 
in  a  frosty  night,  the  intervention  of  a  cloud  shall 
immediately  raise  the  mercury  ten  degrees  ;  and  a 
clear  sky  shall  again  compel  it  to  descend  to  its  former 
gauge."  But  this  leads  him  to  conclude  that  "cold  often 
seems  to  descend  from  above."  Nor  could  he  interpret 
his  own  observation  of  unusual  cold  in  low-lying  and 
sheltered  spots.  It  is  easy  now  to  point  out  that  in 
perfectly  still  weather  the  air  which  is  chilled,  and 
therefore  of  greater  density,  will  collect  in  hollows. 
Promising  boys  in  an  elementary  school  are  taught 


SNOW-FLAKES  11 

many  things  which  the  observant  and  well-read  Gilbert 
White  never  came  to  know. 

Would  that  we  had  a  constant  succession  of  natural- 
ists of  White's  sort !  Natural  History  is  being  choked 
by  unassimilated  facts,  mechanically  compiled  by  men 
who  have  apparently  ceased  to  think  about  Nature 
Hence  a  profuse  and  growing  literature  of  the  most 
melancholy  description,  dry,  marrowless,  useless.  We 
record  and  record  till  our  catalogues  grow  too  volu- 
minous for  storage,  and  too  stodgy  for  the  toughest 
appetite.  Why  do  we  go  on  printing  this  stuff?  Be- 
cause a  considerable  section  of  the  public  believes  in 
Natural  History,  and  is  willing  to  pay  for  much  that 
it  never  reads.  Wrhen  the  purchaser  is  not  a  reader, 
the  quality  of  the  writing  may  sink  to  any  level 
whatever. 

SNOW-FLAKES. 

Jan.  6. — Snow  is  falling  thick  this  morning.  I 
have  been  out  of  doors  to  look  at  the  snow-flakes. 
All  that  is  required  is  a  plate  to  catch  the  snow,  and 
a  pocket-lens.  The  plate  must  not  be  above  the 
freezing-point.  A  sheet  of  coloured  paper  often  does 
as  well  or  even  better.  This  morning  the  snow- 
crystals  were  not  first-rate.  They  were  large  and  ir- 
regular, several  cohering  together  and  blurring  one 
another's  outlines.  This  is  usually  the  case  when  the 
air  is  close  to  freezing-point  and  somewhat  moist.  If 
my  first  inspection  had  been  quite  satisfactory,  I  should 
have  brought  out  a  microscope,  and  allowing  time  for 
cooling,  should  have  examined  the  crystals  more 
carefully,  as  I  have  done  many  times  before. 


12  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

In  the  northern  countries  of  Europe  at  least  the 
crystalline  form  of  snow  must  have  been  observed 
very  long  ago,  but  nothing  was  said  about  it  in  books 
till  the  1 2th  century,  when  Albertus  Magnus  remarked 
that  snow-flakes  had  the  form  of  a  star.  Olaus 


FIG.  3. — Snow-crystals,   photographed  by  Dr.    R.    Neuhauss.     From    Prof.    G. 
Hellmann's  Schneekrystalle. 


Magnus,  in  his  History  of  the  Northern  Nations 
(1555)  figures  snow-flakes,  but  so  wretchedly  that  he 
(or  his  engraver)  had  hardly  recognised  that  they  are 
always  angular,  much  less  that  the  angles  are  constant. 
Kepler  in  1611  noted  that  snow-flakes  are  six-rayed, 


SNOW-FLAKES  13 

and  asked  why.  Cur  autem  sexangula  ?  His  most 
hopeful  suggestion  was  that  chemists  should  find  out 
whether  snow  contained  salts,  and  if  so,  what  they 
were.  Descartes,  to  whom  Meteorology  and  Optics 
owe  the  first  good  explanation  of  the  rainbow,  figures 
rather  conventionally,  several  kinds  of  snow-stars, 
which  he  observed  at  Amsterdam  in  February  1635. 
The  six-rayed  star,  branched  and  unbranched,  the 
rosette,  the  six-rayed  star  with  intermediate  rays,  and 
the  pair  of  lamellar  crystals  joined  by  a  prismatic  rod 
are  all  shown,  and  if  we  make  some  allowance  for  the 
small  size  of  the  figures  and  the  rudeness  of  the  en- 
graving, we  may  say  that  nothing  is  shown  which  does 
not  occur  in  nature.  Robert  Hooke  in  his  Micro- 
graphia  (1665)  gave  many  fairly  good  figures,  and  first 
noticed  that  in  branched  snow-stars  "  the  branchings 
from  each  side  of  the  stems  were  parallel  to  the  next 
stem  on  that  side,"  an  immediate  consequence  from 
the  fact  that  the  secondary  branches,  in  this  case  of 
60°,  make  the  same  angle  with  the  primary  axes,  as 
these  make  with  each  other.  Rosetti  of  Leghorn  in 
1 68 1  first  observed  the  extremely  minute  cavities 
("  capillary  cavities  "  or  "  air-spaces  "  of  modern  writers) 
to  be  found  in  snow-flakes.  Scoresby  in  1820  pub- 
lished an  elaborate  account  of  the  form  of  the  snow- 
flakes  of  the  Arctic  regions,  figuring  96  forms,  and 
classifying  them  under  five  principal  heads.  The  figures 
were  completed  symmetrically,  and  the  dimensions 
given.  Glaisherin  1855  published  150  figures  of  snow- 
crystals,  all  completed  symmetrically.  Scoresby's 
and  Glaisher's  figures  have  been  copied  in  many 
common  text-books.  The  next  step  was  to  photo- 


i4  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

graph  snow-crystals,  and  this  has  been  done  with 
great  success  by  Neuhauss  and  Nordenskiold.1  It  is 
obvious  that  photographs  record  many  particulars 
which  cannot  be  accurately  recorded  by  drawings, 
made  from  objects  so  fugitive  as  snow-flakes.  They 
also  preserve  many  departures  from  symmetry  which 
have  been  neglected  in  the  drawings  made  by  hand. 

The  large  flakes,  with  a  diameter  of  half  or  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch,  are  not  themselves  snow-crystals, 
but  aggregations  of  such,  sometimes  very  loosely 
attached.  A  diameter  of  a  fifth  of  an  inch  is  very 
large  for  a  snow-crystal,  and  the  average  diameter  of 
snow-stars,  the  commonest  form,  is  only  about  one- 
tenth  of  an  inch  (2.35  mm.)  Other  snow-crystals  are 
yet  smaller.  Keen  sight  or  the  help  of  a  lens  is 
therefore  necessary  to  make  out  the  exact  shape  of  a 
snow-crystal,  and  all  the  finer  details  require  the 
microscope. 

When  we  examine  a  snow-crystal  carefully,  we  soon 
learn  one  fact  respecting  it,  viz.,  that  it  is  six-rayed. 
The  crystal  forms  along  three  lines  or  axes  lying  in 
one  plane,  which  cross  each  other  at  equal  angles. 
Six  lines  proceeding  from  a  common  point  at  equal 
angles  will,  of  course,  be  60°  apart.  There  is  a  fourth 
axis  to  the  snow-crystal,  which  we  do  not  recognise  at 
first.  This  represents  the  thickness  of  the  crystal, 
and  takes  a  direction  at  right  angles  to  the  plane 
in  which  the  other  (lateral]  axes  lie,  passing  through 

1  Neuhauss's  figures  are  reproduced  in  Hellmann's  Schnee- 
krystalle,  a  useful  and  interesting  book,  which  has  furnished  the 
materials  for  this  historical  sketch.  A  number  of  Nordenskiold's 
figures  are  reproduced  in  facsimile  in  Nature,  October  19,  1893. 


SNOW-FLAKES 


their  place  of  intersection.  The  fourth  axis  is  usually 
so  short  that  the  crystal  has  hardly  an  appreciable 
thickness  ;  but  it  may  be  long.  Some  snow-crystals 
take  the  form  of  double  stars  separated  by  a 
prismatic  rod  longer  than  the  diameter  of  the  stars. 
Here  the  prismatic  rod  lies  along  the  fourth  axis, 
which  is  often  called  the  principal  axis. 

If  we   mark    points    on    the    three    lateral    axes, 
equidistant  from  their  intersection,  and  join  these  one 
to  another   by    straight 
lines,   we    shall    get     a 
regular  hexagon,  whose 
angles    are,    of    course, 

8-f  =     120°  (Fig.  4.) 

Hexagonal  plates  often 
enter  into  snow-crystals, 
forming  the  centre,  or 
tipping  the  rays  ;  some 
crystals  are  nothing  but 
hexagonal  plates. 

Solid  water  in  all  its 

forms  is  essentially  similar  to  the  snow-crystal.  During 
a  thaw  six-sided  prisms  sometimes  stand  out  from 
the  surface  of  the  melting  ice.  The  spicules  which 
shoot  across  the  surface  of  freezing  water  make 
angles  of  60°.  Hoar-frost,  when  studied  with  a  lens, 
is  seen  to  be  built  up  of  six-sided  crystals. 

If  we  take  any  two  adjacent  triangles  in  Fig.  4  and 
join  them,  they  will  form  a  four-sided  rhomb.  Three 
such  rhombs  make  up  the  hexagon.  Rhombohedrons 
are  often  seen  to  form  the  side  branches  of  a  principal 


FIG.  4. — A  regular  hexagon  in  a  circle, 
with  three  axes  crossing  at  angles 
of  60°. 


16  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

ray,  and  we  could  easily  build  up  certain  forms  of 
snow-stars  entirely  out  of  rhombs.  (Fig.  5.)  I  do 
not,  however,  know  that  snow-crystals  are  actually 
so  formed  throughout,  though  some  show  lines  of 
union  which  point  to  such  an  arrangement.  I  have 
seen  crystals  with  the  centre,  others  with  the  rays 
thus  divided.  It  is  uncommon  to  find  the  centre 
built  up  apparently  of  rhombs.  Far  more  frequently 
it  consists  of  a  tabular  hexagon,  often  with  long  rays 


FIG.  5. — Snow-star,  subdivided  into  rhombs. 

proceeding  from  its   angles,  and  with   ribs  or  raised 
lines  taking  the  same  direction. 

Snow-crystals  are  very  seldom  quite  regular. 
Perfect  regularity  would  mean  that  the  air  was  still, 
of  uniform  temperature,  and  uniformly  supplied  with 
moisture.  There  may,  however,  be  a  near  approach 
to  such  conditions,  as  the  great  regularity  of  some 
few  crystals  shows.  The  fall  of  crystals  through 


SNOW-FLAKES  17 

great  distances  tends  to  impair  their  form.  They  are 
apt  to  stick  together  and  to  form  flakes,  or  to  gather 
moisture  on  one  side  more  than  on  another.  When 
the  air  is  quite  still  and  very  cold,  a  thin  mist  near 
the  ground  sometimes  turns  to  snow.  This  is  the 
"  diamond  dust  snow  "  of  the  Arctic  regions,  and  it  is 
believed  to  consist  of  very  small  and  unusually 
perfect  crystals. 

We  cannot  follow  by  the  eye,  even  when  aided  by 
the  microscope,  all  the  details  of  the  growth  of  a 
snow-crystal.  But  we  can  draw  or  photograph,  and 
try  to  interpret  what  we  have  seen. 

The  finest  particles  of  liquid  water,  condensed  from 
water-vapour,  attach  themselves  to  solid  bodies,  as  if 
attracted  by  them.  They  seem  to  be  easily  attracted 
through  small  distances  by  spicules  of  ice,  and  in 
solidifying  they  commonly  place  themselves  regularly 
with  respect  to  particles  which  have  previously 
crystallised. 

Suppose  that  we  have  to  begin  with  a  single 
needle  of  ice,  and  that  the  moisture  suffices  to  form 
more  needles.  They  will  shoot  out  from  the  sides  of 
the  first  at  angles  of  60°,  forming  a  six-rayed  star. 
The  angles  are  often  filled  up  by  the  shooting  across 
of  fresh  needles,  which  make  the  same  angle  of  60° 
with  the  primary  rays,  and  thus  a  regular  hexagon  is 
formed.  It  is  not  uncommon  to  find  among  snow- 
crystals  very  perfect  and  simple  hexagons.  If  they 
grow,  they  will  probably  send  out  rays  from  their 
corners.  Why  from  the  corners  rather  than  from 
their  flat  sides  ?  Because  the  corners  project  farther 
into  the  field,  and  are  more  exposed  to  the  contact 

C 


18  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

of  floating  particles.  Let  us  suppose  that  each 
corner  has  gathered  its  quota  of  particles,  and 
that  these  have  arranged  themselves  regularly 
along  rays  pointing  towards  the  centre  of  the 
hexagon,  and  making  angles  of  60°  with  one 
another.  When  the  rays  have  pushed  out  a  good 
way  from  the  centre  they  will  attract  very  feebly 
some  of  the  floating  particles  which  lie  between  them. 
Secondary  rays  will  then  dart  out  into  the  midst  of 
the  particles  from  the  primary  rays,  making  the  same 
angles  as  before.  By  a  repetition  of  the  process  we 
may  get  a  star  of  any  degree  of  complexity,  and  if 
the  particles  of  moisture  are  uniformly  distributed,  its 
symmetry  will  be  perfect.  But  if  there  is  more 
moisture  or  greater  cold  in  one  part  than  in 
another,  perfect  symmetry  will  be  lost.  The  branch- 
ing rays  will  shoot,  but  nearly  always  at  constant 
angles,  into  the  patches  of  moisture  and  avoid  dry 
places,  just  as  the  growing  branches  of  a  tree  push 
into  the  sunshine  and  avoid  the  shade.  Sometimes, 
however,  the  original  direction  of  the  rays  is  not  quite 
accurately  preserved.  Crystal  joins  to  crystal,  not  in 
straight  lines,  but  with  slight  deviations.  This  is  not 
the  case,  so  far  as  I  know,  with  snow-crystals,  but  it 
is  common  in  hoar-frost  and  on  the  frosted  pane. 
The  neighbourhood  of  a  solid  body  may  possibly  set 
up  these  disturbances. 

When  we  have  got  a  central  hexagon  with  rays 
attached  to  its  angles — a  common,  but  by  no  means 
inevitable  form,  there  is  often  a  change  in  the  angle 
of  attachment  of  the  secondary  rays.  One  of  the 
sides  of  the  hexagon  passes  from  one  primary  ray  to 


SNOW-FLAKES 


FIG.  6. — Angles  of  120" 
and  60°.  The  second- 
ary axes  are  turned  in- 
wards near  the  point  of 
intersection,  and  out- 
wards at  a  greater 
distance. 


another  in  such  a  direction  as  to  give  an  angle  of  60° 
on  its  inner  side  (nearest  to  the  centre)  and  an  angle 
of  120°  on  its   outer  side.     But  at 
a  distance  from  the  centre  of  the  / 

crystal,  we  more  commonly  find 
the  angle  of  120°  inside,  and  the 
angle  of  60°  outside.  The  angles 
which  the  more  distant  secondary 
rays  make  are  in  such  cases  sup- 
plementary to  those  of  the  more 
central  secondary  rays.  But  the 
angle  of  60°  is  still  there,  though 
its  place  may  be  changed. 

We  may  say  that  near  the  point 
of  intersection  of  the  primaries 
the  secondary  rays  are  turned  as 
nearly  towards  the  centre  as  their  angle  of  60°  allows, 
while  at  a  greater  distance  they  are  turned  away  from 
the  centre.  Why  is  this?  The  first  arrangement  is  the 
most  compact,  the  other  the  least  compact  possible. 
Near  the  centre  there  is  at  first  an  excess  of  moisture, 
and  here  the  rays  will  be  crowded,  often  forming  a 
solid  mass  ;  all  turn  towards  the  centre.  As  the  rays 
shoot  further  and  further  out  the  moisture  becomes 
less  plentiful  ;  it  was  presumably  less  plentiful  from 
the  first,  and  the  growth  of  the  crystal  has  further 
diminished  it.  Now  the  new  rays  will  take  that 
arrangement  which  spaces  them  most  widely  ;  they 
will  all  turn  from  the  centre. 

It  is  a  good  plan  to  draw  all  snow-crystals  that  are 
observed.  A  pair  of  compasses  and  a  ruler  are 
wanted.  If  you  wish  to  draw  a  regular  hexagon, 

C  2 


20  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

notice  that  the  radius  of  the  circle  which  bounds  the 
hexagon  is  exactly  the  length  of  one  of  the  sides.  It 
is  convenient  to  have  ready  a  card  cut  to  the  figure  of 
a  rhomb,  with  angles  of  60°  and  120°.  These  can  be 
got  from  the  hexagon.  Lines  drawn  from  the  angles 
to  the  centre  meet  at  60°,  and  each  angle  of  the 
hexagon  is  120°.  As  a  rule,  half  of  one  ray  of  the 
crystal  is  enough  to  show  the  crystalline  form,  and  it 
is  generally  best  to  draw  no  more 

So  far  we  have  neglected  the  thickness  of  the 
crystals,  and  have  treated  them  as  flat.  But  snow- 
crystals  are  of  three  dimensions,  and  the  third 
dimension  is  often  too  large  to  be  neglected.  We 
saw  that  the  angles  of  the  flat  figure  projected  farther 
from  the  centre  than  the  rest,  and  generally  gathered 
more  floating  particles  to  themselves,  It  is  the  same 
with  the  edges  and  solid  angles  of  the  crystal  of 
three  dimensions.  Suppose  a  great  number  of  small 
spheres  to  cohere  into  a  crystalline  form,  which  for 
the  sake  of  simplicity  we  will  suppose  to  be  cubical 
On  one  of  the  flat  faces  each  particle  will  be  half 
immersed  and  half  exposed.  The  particles  along  an 
edge  will  be  one-quarter  immersed  and  three-quarters 
exposed.  The  particle  at  a  solid  angle  will  be  one- 
eighth  immersed  and  seven-eighths  exposed.  The 
greater  the  exposure  the  greater  the  possibility  of 
attracting  floating  particles,  and  this  helps  us  to 
understand  how  edges  grow  faster  than  flat  faces, 
and  solid  angles  faster  than  edges.1  But  exceptions 
to  the  rule  are  not  uncommon,  especially  in  very 
small  crystals. 

1  Sollas,  Nature,  Dec.  29,  1892. 


SNOW-FLAKES  21 

Hoar-frost  often  gives  us  good  examples  of  the 
tendency  of  crystals  to  grow  out  from  their  points 
and  edges.  When  the  air  is  still,  very  cold,  and  laden 
with  moisture,  a  white  crystalline  growth  forms  on 
trees,  bushes  and  grass.  If  we  examine  it  with  a 


FIG.   7. — Hollow   hexagonal    "hopper-crystals"   of   ice,    from    Surtshellir   Cavern, 
Iceland.     From  Grossmann  and  Lomas,  Nature,  Oct.  18,  1894. 


lens  we  shall  see  many  needles,  growing  at  the 
point.  We  shall  also  find  hexagonal  "hopper- 
crystals,"  that  is  hollow  pyramids,  attached  by  the  apex 
and  with  the  cavity  turned  towards  the  sky.  These 
are  due  to  more  rapid  growth  of  the  edges  of  the 
crystal.  Air-currents  and  other  disturbing  causes 


22 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


affect  the  regularity  of  the  crystalline  masses,  and  the 
freaks  of  hoar-frost  are  many. 

Many  snow-crystals  exhibit  under  the  microscope 


FIG.  8.— Natural  hoar-frost,  Christmas,  i 

From  Grossmann  arid  Lomas 


i  (a,f,  natural  size,  the  rest  enlarged). 
,  Nature,  Oct.  18,  1894. 


cavities  containing  air,  or  water,  or  both.  These 
cavities  are  sometimes  of  very  regular  form,  spheres, 
or  elongated  tubes  pointed  at  each  end.  In  other 
cases  three  sides  of  the  hexagon  exhibit  one 
pattern  (a.  Fig.  9)  and  alternate  with  three  skies  of 
different  pattern  (£.).  The  similar  crystals  of  hoar- 
frost have  never  been  found  to  contain  such  cavities. 


SNOW-FLAKES  23 

The  star-like  crystals  are  believed  to  form  only  in 
great  cold,  as  in  the  upper  regions  of  the  air.  Tabular 
crystals,  or  flat  hexagonal  plates,  form  at  higher 
temperatures.  They  are  common  in  the  lower  layers 
of  fallen  snow,  and  appear  to  the  eye  as  minute 
lustrous  scales.  The  crystalline  form  must  have 
undergone  change,  for  tabular  crystals  rarely  fall 
from  the  sky. 

A  sufficiently  low  temperature  will  produce  snow 
direct  from  water-vapour.  The  story  of  the  Peters- 


FIG.  9  — Hexagonal  snow -crystal,  with  star-shaped  cavity.  The  alternate  triangular 
fields  (a,  />)  differ  in  pattern.  Photographed  from  nature  by  Nordenskiold. 
Nature,  Oct.  19.  1893. 

burg  ball-room  is  well  known.  The  hall  was  crowded 
with  people  and  ladies  were  fainting  from  heat,  when 
some  one  opened  a  window,  and  the  cold  air  rushing 
in  caused  snow  to  fall.  Maupertuis  observed  in 
Lapland  that  the  mere  opening  of  a  door  caused  big 
snow-flakes  to  fall  in  the  hut.  Cold  readily  forms 


24  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

snow  in  the  vacuum  of  a  water-barometer.  Muncke 
took  an  exhausted  glass  bulb  and  set  it,  during  frost, 
in  the  open  window  of  a  room,  which  though  not 
heated,  was  warmer  than  the  outer  air.  A  little  ice 
had  been  allowed  to  form  on  one  side  of  the  interior 
of  the  bulb,  and  this  was  turned  towards  the  room. 
Before  long  the  invisible  water-particles  passed  into 
vapour,  and  crossing  the  bulb  formed  a  loose  mass  of 
perfectly  formed  crystals  on  the  opposite  side. 

Snow,  as  it  lies  on  the  ground,  contains  much  air. 
Its  density  is  only  one -tenth  or  one-twelfth  that  of 
water.  Nordenskiold  remarks  that  even  below  freez- 
ing point  snow  may  contain  so  much  water  as  to 
drip. 

In  ancient  and  mediaeval  times  it  was  believed  that 
long-continued  and  severe  cold  could  squeeze  all  the 
liquidity  out  of  water,  and  that  the  permanently  solid 
rock-crystal  was  formed  upon  the  Alps  in  this  way. 
Rock-crystal  is  now  known  to  be  crystallised  silica, 
which  nearly  always  takes  the  form  of  six-sided 
prisms  or  pyramids. 

Why  is  snow  white  ?  Water,  ice,  glass  and  other 
transparent  bodies  are  not  white.  But  water  is 
white  when  broken  into  spray  or  foam.  Ice  and 
glass  becomes  white  when  pounded  or  filled  with 
small  air-bubbles.  Leeuwenhoeck,  two  hundred 
years  ago,  showed  that  milk  owes  its  whiteness  to 
minute  globules  of  oil  suspended  in  a  watery  fluid. 
A  body  is  white  when  it  reflects  much  white  light. 
Transparent  bodies  reflect  some  light  from  their 
surfaces,  but  allow  a  great  deal  to  pass  through.  The 
more  they  are  broken  up,  the  more  numerous  do  the 


BURIED  IN  THE  SNOW  25 

reflecting    surfaces    become,    and     the    smaller    the 
quantity  of  light  which  is  able  to  pass  through. 

It  will  be  seen  that  some  progress  has  been  made 
since  Kepler's  time  in  the  scientific  study  of  snow, 
but  we  are  still  quite  unable  to  answer  that  question 
of  his,  Cur  autem  sexangula  ?  Why  are  snow-stars 
six-pointed  ? 


BURIED  IN  THE  SNOW. 

The  large  quantity  of  air  entangled  in  loose  snow 
helps  us  to  understand  how  sheep  and  even  human 
beings  can  survive  long  burial  in  snow-drifts. 
Samuel  Bowditch,  an  old  writer  in  the  Philosophical 
Transactions,  tells  the  following  story : — Joanna 
Crippen,  of  Chardstock,  in  Dorsetshire,  a  spinner  of 
worsted,  went  home  on  the  24th  of  January  (1712  ?) 
when  it  was  snowing  hard.  She  lost  one  of  her 
shoes,  and  her  clothes,  which  were  very  poor,  were 
torn  by  the  brambles.  At  last  she  lay  down  under  a 
hedge,  it  being  then  about  six  o'clock  on  Monday 
evening.  She  was  not  discovered  till  the  following 
Sunday  afternoon,  when  a  party  of  searchers  found 
her  buried  four  feet  deep.  A  man  thrust  a  pole  into 
the  heap  when  she  cried  out  and  begged  him  not  to 
push  her  so  hard.  When  dug  out  she  had  no  shoes 
or  stockings  on.  Her  clothes  were  very  scanty.  Her 
shoulders  were  covered  by  an  old  whittle *  in  which 
she  had  gnawed  a  large  hole.  She  had  drunk  the 
snow  which  melted  on  her  body  to  quench  her  thirst. 

1  A  whittle  was  a  piece  of  white  (undyed)  cloth,  or  blanket. 


26  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

One  of  her  great  toes  was  mortified  (frost-bitten  ?),  but 
she  soon  recovered,  and  at  the  time  of  writing  was 
described  as  very  hearty.'1  It  is  well  known  that 
the  inmates  of  dwellings  buried  deep  in  snow  by 
avalanches  have  survived  for  several  weeks  in  more 
than  one  case. 

BIRDS  IN  MID-WINTER. 

The  snow  has  driven  the  Red-breasts  towards  the 
habitations  of  man.  Some  of  them  are  quite  fearless, 
and  hop  about  within  a  few  feet  of  a  window  at  which 
faces  appear.  Others  are  shy,  and  keep  aloof  except 
when  pressed  by  hunger.  They  are  solitary  birds, 
and  are  never  seen  in  flocks,  rarely  two  together, 
except  when  mating.  The  old  proverb,  "  One  bush 
does  not  lodge  two  Red-breasts,"  is  very  fairly  true. 
Naturalists  have  studied  with  care  the  limited  migra- 
tions of  the  Red-breasts.  They  travel  south  in 
autumn  and  return  in  spring,  but  in  England  or 
Central  Europe,  Red-breasts  are  to  be  found  through- 
out the  year.  Some  go  and  others  take  their  place  ; 
some  arrive  and  others  depart. 

A  few  days  ago  I  heard  a  Red-breast  singing 
lustily  out  of  a  leafless  tree.  There  is  no  time  of 
year  when  they  are  silent,  but  in  spring  their  sweet 
and  varied,  though  not  powerful  song,  is  drowned  in 
the  chorus  of  newly-returned  songsters.  Even  in 
August,  which  White  calls  "  the  most  mute  month  the 
spring,  summer,  and  autumn  through,"  the  Red-breast- 
"  tunes  his  merry  note."  Black-birds,  Sky-larks,  and 

1  Philosophical  Transactions •,  No.  337,  p.  265  (1713). 


BIRDS  IN  MID-WINTER  27 

Song-thrushes  occasionally  sing  in  the  depth  of 
winter,  and  the  less  melodious  noise  of  the  Missel- 
thrush,  the  Wren,  the  Starling,  the  Hedge  Sparrow, 
the  Chaffinch,  the  Yellowhammer,  the  Corn  Bunting 
and  the  Tits  may  be  heard  both  early  and  late,  in 
some  cases  all  round  the  year.  I  believe  that  the 
Missel-thrush  never  sings  except  in  winter  or  early 
spring. 

We  have  few  birds  as  yet  about  our  new-built  house, 
but  we  shall  have  more  before  long.  The  boys  have 
thrown  out  corn,  and  bread;  and  sand  for  the  starving 
birds  Sand  is  as  necessary  as  food  in  snowy 
weather,  for  a  bird  with  an  empty  gizzard  cannot 
digest  its  food.1  When  our  shrubs  and  trees  have 
grown  there  will  be  better  shelter,  and  that  will 
greatly  increase  the  number  of  our  visitors 

Birds  endure  great  hardships  when  the  ground 
is  covered  with  snow  for  many  days  together,  but  I 
fancy  that  they  care  little  for  mere  cold.  Such  as  are 
fond  of  bathing  will  bathe  in  an  ice-cold  spring  on 
a  frosty  morning,  and  you  will  rarely  find  a  bird  of 
any  kind  seeking  shelter  from  a  cutting  north-east 
wind.  Rain  is  a  different  thing.  Many  birds  do  not 
like  to  get  their  plumage  wet.  There  is  sometimes 
talk  of  birds  perishing  from  cold,  but  it  will  generally 
be  found  by  close  inquiry  into  the  circumstances  that 
they  were  short  of  food  and  water  when  they 
succumbed. 

Grouse  were  plentiful  after  the  hard  winter  of  1895, 
but  in  January,  1886,  they  suffered  greatly.  Repeated 
falls  of  snow  and  alternations  of  frost  and  thaw 
1  The  sand  should  be  coarse  and  sharp. 


28  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

covered  the  ground  with  a  thick  and  solid  frozen 
mass.  The  birds  strayed  in  great  numbers  into  the 
valley  of  the  Wharfe,  and  were  found  in  the  culti- 
vated fields  along  the  river.  Many  were  said  to  be 
injured  by  dashing  against  the  telegraph  wires.1 


THE  DEPTH  TO  WHICH  THE  GROUND  FREEZES. 

Jan.  9. — A  question  came  up  to-day  which  I  was 
unable  to  answer  off-hand.  This  is  our  first  winter  in 
a  new  house,  and  the  domestic  management  wants  to 
know  whether  our  water-main,  which  lies  about  2  ft. 
6  in.  below  the  surface  of  the  ground,  is  liable  to 
freeze.  I  have  never  had  occasion  to  consider  this 
question,  and  was,  at  first,  unable  to  give  a  clear 
answer.  By  and  by  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  insect 
larvae,  which  winter  in  the  ground,  are  often  found 
less  than  a  foot  deep.  It  seems  probable,  therefore, 
that  frost  does  not  usually  penetrate  to  the  depth  of 
one  foot. 

Jan.  ii. — Mr.  G.  J.  Symons,  F.R.S.,  who  has  made 
long  and  careful  observations  of  underground  tem- 
perature, gives  me  in  a  letter  received  this  morning 
some  interesting  particulars.  "  The  earth,"  he  says, 
"  at  one  foot  below  its  surface  very  rarely  reaches  32° 
F.  Here  (Camden  Square,  London)  it  fell  to  32*2° 
on  Jan.  6  and  7,  1893,  and  to  32°  on  Jan.  29,  31,  and 
Feb.  i  to  5,  1880.  It  did  not  fall  to  32°  here  in  1875, 
but  it  just  reached  it  at  the  gardens  of  the  Royal 
Botanic  Society,  Regent's  Park,  on  Jan.  i,  2,  3  and  4, 

1  Zoologist,  March,  1886, 


DEPTH  TO  WHICH  THE  GROUND  FREEZES      29 

1875.  Mains  for  water  supply  are  usually  put  2  ft. 
below  the  surface  to  avoid  all  risk,  and  I  remember, 
but  cannot  give  details,  that  in  a  small  Hertfordshire 
town  an  engineer  did  the  economical  and  put  his 
pipes  at  one  foot.  A  big  frost  came,  and  every  main 
was  cracked  !  ' 

It  is  a  comfort  to  know  that  our  water-main  is 
tolerably  safe.  As  to  underground  larvae,  Mr.  Symons 
adds : — "  I  should  think  that  larvae  in  walls,  etc., 
generally  get  below  32°,  but  that  those  that  get  down 
6  in.  underground  very  rarely  do  so — perhaps  one 
year  in  five." 

So  I  wrote  on  Jan.  n.  The  next  few  weeks  were 
instructive.  In  the  first  place  the  underground 
temperatures  of  the  spring  of  1895  greatly  extended 
the  maximum  depth  at  which  a  freezing  temperature 
was  ascertained.  The  thermometers  showed  that 

Frost  penetrated  to  i  ft,          at  1 1  stations. 

„  „  i  ft,  6  in.        3        „ 

„  „  2  ft.  i  station. 

„  „  2  ft.  6  in.        no  station. 

While  this  was  the  story  tolcl  by  the  thermometers, 
the  water-mains  indicated  an  even  greater  penetration 
of  the  frost.  At  Maidenhead,  Hatfield  and  Shrews- 
bury the  mains  froze  at  2  ft.  6  in.,  and  at  Musselburgh 
at  over  3  ft.  The  damage  done  all  over  the  country 
was  very  great.  In  Liverpool  27,000  houses  were 
without  water  at  one  time.  In  Sheffield  nearly 
170,000  persons  were  without  proper  water-supply. 
Selkirk  reported  that  so  many  bursts  had  occurred 
that  no  attempt  would  be  made  to  repair,  but  new 


30  ROUND  TH£  YEAR 

mains  would  be  laid  throughout  From  Devonshire 
to  Inverness  the  same  tale  of  trouble  was  heard.1 

Mr.  Symons  explains  the  discrepancy  between  the 
thermometers  and  the  mains  in  this  way.  The  frost 
never  really  penetrated  the  soil  to  pipes  at  such 
depths  as  2  ft.  6  in.,  but  water  cooled  almost  to 
freezing-point  in  uncovered  reservoirs  was  steadily 
delivered  into  the  pipes,  and  chilled  the  surrounding 
soil.  This  of  itself  would  not  have  frozen  the  water 
in  the  mains,  but  further  loss  of  heat  was  experienced 
by  conduction  along  the  shallow  service-pipes  and 
the  pipes  supplying  the  hydrants  in  the  streets. 
These  effected  a  perfect  metallic  communication 
between  the  mains  and  the  surface  of  the  ground  at  a 
time  when  the  air  for  a  long  time  together  was  little 
above  zero. 

The  service-pipes  are  led  off  from  the  top  of  the 
mains.  If  they  could  be  led  off  from  the  sides  the 
risk  of  freezing  would  be  appreciably  reduced,  but 
the  cost  and  labour  of  connection  would  be  materially 
increased. 

Our  mains  never  froze  at  all,  and  as  the  frost  of 
1 895  is  believed  to  be  the  hardest  for  eighty  years, 
we  shall  face  future  frosts  with  a  light  heart. 

THE  GREAT  FROST  OF  1895. 

The  frost  lasted  from  Dec.  29  to  Mar.  5  (nine 
and  a  half  weeks),  but  was  broken  by  a  mild  interval 

1  Symons's  Monthly  Meteorological  Magazine  for  April,  May, 
and  June,  1895,  contains  much  information  respecting  the  frost 
and  its  effects,  of  which  I  have  made  use  here, 


THE  GREAT  FROST  OF  1895  31 

(Jan.  14-21).  For  seventy  consecutive  days  (Dec.  26 
to  Mar.  5)  the  thermometer  fell  below  freezing-point 
during  some  part  of  the  twenty-four  hours.  The 
mean  temperature  for  the  whole  period  was  27*5°,  and 
the  daily  minimum  averaged  22°.  The  greatest  ex- 
tremity of  cold  observed  in  England  was  —  11°  at 
Buxton.  Northerly  winds  prevailed  during  most  of 
the  time,  an  area  of  high  pressure  being  pretty  constant 
in  the  north,  and  an  area  of  low  pressure  in  the  south 
of  Europe.  The  ice  on  ponds  attained  a  thickness 
of  over  ten  inches.  On  the  whole  the  frost  was 
considered  the  most  severe  since  that  of  I8I4.1 

On  our  commons  and  moors  the  Furze  was  much 
injured,  and  the  following  summer  many  dead  or 
partly  dead  bushes  were  seen.  In  Yorkshire  Furze  is 
near  its  northern  limit ;  it  gets  into  the  North  of 
Scotland,  but  its  frequency  diminishes  greatly.  On 
the  Continent  it  does  not  extend  north  of  Denmark. 

Fruit-eating  Birds,  especially  the  Black-bird,  Thrush, 
and  Linnet,  were  so  reduced  in  numbers  that-  in  the 
summer  of  1895  little  damage  was  done  to  fruit, 
and  nets  were  laid  aside  which  had  previously  been 
absolutely  necessary  to  protect  the  fruit-crops. 
Mountain  Ash  berries,  in  places  where  the  trees  are 
ordinarily  cleared  by  the  birds  every  autumn,  remained 
unmolested  in  singular  profusion. 

Even  in  the  sea  the  effects  of  the  long  and  severe 
cold  were  felt.  Oysters  and  Mussels  suffered  much 
from  hard  frosts  at  low  tides.  Whelks  and  Scallops 
were  killed  in  great  numbers.  Fishes  and  other 
marine  animals  were  thrown  up  on  the  shore,  dead  or 
1  Bayard  and  Marriott,  Roy.  Met.  Soc.,  1895. 


32  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

helpless.  In  the  following  season  it  was  observed  by 
the  French  fishermen  that  nearly  all  the  large  Shrimps 
had  been  killed,  and  that  only  young  and  small  ones 
could  be  fished.  The  mortality  extended  to  consider- 
able depths  (15-25  metres).  It  was  observed  that 
animals  which  are  usually  found  only  in  water  of  fair 
depth  came  close  to  shore  during  the  frost.1 

There  is  a  general  impression  that  injurious  insects 
are  kept  in  check  by  severe  winters,  but  I  know  of  no 
direct  and  extensive  evidence  in  support  of  the  view. 
The  hard  winter  of  1894-5  was  followed  by  a  season 
in  which  insects,  whether  injurious  or  not,  showed  no 
diminution  of  numbers.2 


UNDER  THE  CRAGS. 

I  have  so  much  dry  information  to  pour  out  that  I 
will  venture  to  waste  a  page  or  two  upon  my  own 
surroundings.  The  chapter  will  be  short,  and  will 
contain  little  useful  matter. 

We  live  on  a  steep  slope  which  runs  down  from' 
Rumbalds  Moor  to  the  Wharfe.  Here  the  river  flows 
from  west  to  east,  and  we  are  on  the  southern  bank, 
facing  due  north.  The  skyline  behind  the  house  is 
rugged  with  cliffs  and  fallen  blocks  of  sandstone, 
among  which  are  the  locally  famous  Cow  and  Calf. 
Below  these  is  a  fringe  of  moor,  overgrown  with 
heather,  crowberry  and  moss.  Then  comes  a  narrow 
strip  of  pasture,  on  the  low  side  of  which  is  our 
garden  fence.  Below  us  is  a  rolling  mass  of  grassy 

1  Fauvel  Comptes  Rendus,  CXXI.  pp.  427-429  (1895). 

2  Miss  Ormerod's  Report  on  Injurious  Insects  for  1895. 


UNDER  THE  CRAGS  33 

hillocks,  which  rest  upon  a  gentle  slope.  Across  the 
river  is  a  great  hillside,  six  miles  long  as  seen  from 
our  windows,  which  culminates  to  the  west  in 
Beamsley  Beacon  ;  the  higher  parts  are  heathery,  the 
lower  slopes  covered  with  wood  and  pasture. 

The  two  sides  of  the  valley  might  be  called  Security 
and  Desolation.  The  opposite  slope  is  stable,  and 
will  never  move  unless  all  Yorkshire  is  shaken.  Our 
side  is  wild  and  rugged,  because  of  great  landslips. 
We  have  the  better  prospects  and  the  more  picturesque 
rocks,  but  the  other  side  gets  the  best  of  the  sunshine. 
In  December  the  sun  never  shines  upon  our  house  for 
two  full  hours  in  the  day. 

From  the  Cow  and  Calf  to  a  line  well  below  our 
house  the  whole  hillside  has  slipped.  The  form  of 
the  ground  tells  the  tale.  The  great  sandstone  cliffs 
have  been  cracked  through,  and  the  insufficiently 
supported  edge  has  fallen  in  wild  ruin,  pushing  before 
it  great  mounds  of  shale  and  clay.  Near  the  line  of 
fracture  great  fissures  run  through  the  sandstone,  as 
if  more  would  fall  some  day.  The  Calf  is  on  the 
slipped  ground,  the  Cow  is  part  of  the  cliff  which  has 
stood  firm.  A  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  west  of  us 
the  fallen  rocks  are  piled  into  a  long  and  steep  ridge. 
Between  them  and  the  cliffs  from  which  they  have 
broken  away  lies  a  considerable  hollow,  called  the 
Rocky  Valley.  Eastwards  the  slip  increases  in 
volume,  and  covers  almost  all  the  hillside  as  seen 
from  the  river. 

What  brought  down  this  great  sheet  of  rocks  and 
earth,  which  measures  more  than  a  square  mile  in 
extent?  One  usual  condition  of  a  landslip  is  con- 

D 


34  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

spicuous  here — a  steep  slope  of  comparatively  soft 
rock  (shale)  surmounted  by  a  thick  bed  of  hard  rock 
(sandstone).  If  the  strata  were  to  dip  ever  so  little 
outwards,  towards  the  river,  the  fall  would  be  hastened. 
I  cannot  say  that  there  is  any  marked  outward  dip 
here,  for  the  sandstone  is  irregularly  bedded  and 
shaken,  so  that  no  good  observation  can  be  made,  but 
there  is  a  marked  dip  towards  the  head  of  the  valley. 
Did  the  river  ever  wash  the  base  of  the  slope  and  so 
undermine  the  cliffs  ?  I  think  that  this  was  not  the 
cause.  Below  the  hummocks  of  slipped  shale  and 
clay  comes  a  gentle  slope,  which  has  never  been 
disturbed  or  cut  into  by  the  river.  It  is  worth  notice 
that  the  whole  landslip  is  full  of  water.  Springs 
break  out  all  over  its  surface,  and  the  rough  pastures 
are  never  dry. 

No  history,  no  tradition  of  the  great  slip  is  pre- 
served ;  it  may  have  taken  place,  for  all  that  we  know, 
many  thousand  years  ago,  before  England  was  peopled 
at  all.  The  great  lapse  of  time  during  which  the  sur- 
face has  remained  unchanged  is  our  chief  reason  for 
living  tranquilly  on  the  scene  of  so  great  ruin. 

Near  to  the  Cow  and  Calf  are  sandstone  quarries, 
chiefly  interesting  for  the  planing  and  scratching  of 
ice  upon  the  bared  surfaces  of  the  rock.  Some  of 
these  ice-planes,  as  well  as  the  big  "  day-stones " 
which  lie  around,  bear  the  rude  sculptures  known  as 
cup-and-ring  marks.  When  and  why  they  were  made 
no  one  knows,  though  antiquarian  conjecture  is  profuse. 
Flint  chips  and  stone  tools  are  occasionally  picked  up, 
while  circles  and  cairns  are  plentiful  on  the  moor,  the 
relics  of  tribes  whose  name  has  perished. 


UNDER  THE  CRAIGS 


35 


36  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

The  allurements  of  the  spot  are  pure  and  bracing 
air,  wide  prospects,  and  constant  incitements  to 
exercise.  The  naturalist  finds  a  profusion  of  flowers 
and  streams  swarming  with  aquatic  insects.  Mr. 
McLachlan  1  witnessed  an  extraordinary  spectacle  in 
our  valley  in  the  end  of  September,  1873.  All  the 
way  from  Ilkley  to  Bolton  Abbey  (about  seven  miles) 
the  valley  swarmed  with  a  rather  uncommon  Caddis 
fly  (Halesus  auricollis).  When  a  branch  was  shaken 
the  air  became  alive  with  the  flies,  and  they  covered 
the  grass.  I  think  I  have  never  found  any  stream 
quite  so  full  of  aquatic  insects  as  Beamsley  Beck, 
which  empties  itself  into  the  Wharfe  close  to  Bolton 
Bridge. 

We  have  hill  and  valley  ;  moor,  woodland,  meadow 
and  pasture ;  endless  streams  and  fountains.  Few 
places  in  England  offer  more  variety,  and  the 
naturalist's  great  danger  is  that  of  distraction.  Every 
day  there  is  some  new  thing  to  note,  and  he  is  apt  to 
become  hasty  and  desultory. 

On  this  bleak  slope,  which  faces  due  north,  and  is 
open  to  every  wind  which  has  north  in  it,  we  can  grow 
few  plants  to  advantage.  When  I  was  putting  in  trees 
and  shrubs  I  ventured  to  aspire  to  Apple  trees. 
"  Apples  ?  "  said  the  nurseryman.  "  Yes,  you  might  get 
blossoms  in  a  good  season,  and  of  course  there  would  be 
the  leaves  to  look  at."  I  climbed  down,  and  contented 
myself  with  Gooseberries  and  Black  Currants.  Our 
Cabbages  and  Lettuces  are  a  success,  and  the  rockery 
is  gay  with  Alpines,  but  we  attempt  nothing  that  fears 
the  wind. 

1  Entom.  Month.  Mag.,  Vol.  X.  p.  140  (1873). 


UNDER  THE  CRAGS  37 

How  is  it  that  the  Sycamore  endures  our  wintry 
gales  so  bravely?  There  are  many  well  grown 
Sycamores  around,  both  young  and  old,  with  shapely 
heads,  and  no  swerving  to  one  side.  Elms,  oaks  and 
ashes  all  bend  away  from  the  west.  If  we  were  to 
judge  from  the  Sycamores  alone,  we  should  be  inclined 
to  say  that  the  wind  never  raged  along  this  hill-side. 
The  Sycamore  is  a  true  Alpine  tree,  ascending  to 
over  5,000  feet  in  Switzerland  and  other  mountainous 
countries. 

The  place  is  at  its  best  on  a  fine  summer  evening. 
The  sun  then  sets  behind  Barden  Moor,  and  his  rays 
are  reflected  to  us  from  a  sickle-shaped  bend  of  the 
river.  The  low,  square  church-tower  is  bathed  in 
ruddy  light.  On  such  an  evening  it  is  delightful  to 
sit  upon  our  terrace  and  watch  the  colours  on  the 
hills  change  and  fade,  till  the  long  ridges  of  moorland 
stand  out  black  against  the  still  luminous  sky. 

Some  faint  historic  flavour  clings  to  Denton,  a  little 
village  across  the  river,  for  it  was  one  of  the  homes  of 
the  Fairfaxes.  Sir  Thomas  Fairfax  chanced  to  be 
born  here  in  1612,  his  father  then  usually  dwelling  in 
a  house  which  still  stands  in  the  adjoining  valley  of 
the  Washburn.  The  old  hall  came  into  the  hands  of 
a  family  of  Leeds  clothiers,  who  rebuilt  it  in  1760.  The 
present  Denton  Hall  is  handsome  and  well-placed, 
but  has  no  historical  associations.  Middleton  Hall 
is  a  manor-house  of  a  kind  not  uncommon  in  York- 
shire. Though  not  remarkable  in  itself,  it  is  fortunate 
in  its  commanding  position,  in  the  woods  which  form 
a  background  to  it,  and  in  the  sloping  lawns  which 
stretch  from  its  door  to  the  Wharfe.  Not  in  sight, 


38 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


but  continually  in  our  thoughts,  is  something  better 
than  Denton  or  Middleton.  Beyond  the  shoulder  of 
Beamsley  Fell  is  Bolton  Abbey,  the  pride  of  Wharfe- 
dale,  and  it  gives  a  vague  charm  to  the  westward 
prospect  to  know  that  the  river  which  shines  in  our 
valley  at  sundown  has  flowed  beneath  Barden  Tower 
and  through  Bolton  Woods. 


PHI  AND  THETA. 

We  keep  a  dog  and  a  cat.  The  dog  is  a  fox- 
terrier,  the  cat  an  Angora,  but  neither  is  well-bred.  A 
really  valuable  animal  runs  too  great  risk  of  being 
stolen,  and  we  prefer  pets  who  give  us  no  anxiety. 
The  money  value  of  our  animals  is  negligible,  but  they 
are  very  dear  to  us. 

Fi  is  a  natural  abbreviation  of.  Fido,  and  Fi  (spelt 
Phi)  suggests  Theta  to  any  one  who  has  been  through 
the  elements  of  trigonometry.  It  was  a  professor  of 
mathematics  who  suggested  Theta  as  a  good  name  for 
the  companion  of  Phi. 

Phi  and  Theta  are  very  good  friends.  They  will 
lie  down  together,  and  keep  one  another  warm.  It  is 
true  that  when  Phi  is  boisterous,  Theta  will  jump  upon 
a  chair  pr  work-table,  and  if  seriously  alarmed  will 
spit  and  strike.  She  will  now  and  then  provoke  the 
dog  out  of  mere  caprice.  WThen  Phi  is  trotting  past 
bent  upon  business  of  his  own,  she  has  been  seen  to 
put  out  a  paw  and  scratch  him.  But  such  interruptions 
of  amity  are  rare. 

When  Theta  first  arrived,  a  mere  kitten,  and  found 


PHI  AND  THETA  39 

herself  alone  among  strangers,  and  in  the  presence  of 
a  rather  terrible  dog,  she  summoned  up  her  courage 
and  stood  bravely  on  the  defensive.  Nature  has  taught 
the  cat  how  to  make  up  for  small  size  and  weakness, 
by  pluck  and  nimbleness.  In  those  early  days  Phi 
learned  that  a  cat's  claws  are  sharp  and  a  dog's  nose 
tender. 

In  presence  of  a  dangerous  animal  the  cat  arches 
her  back  and  erects  her  tail.  This  increases  her 
apparent  size,  and  is  calculated  to  strike  terror  into  the 
enemy.  It  is  curious  that  the  cat  assumes  very  nearly 
the  same  attitude  when  she  comes  into  the  room,  or 
sees  the  family  enter.  Now  her  object  is  to  attract 
attention,  and  with  this  end  in  view,  she  rubs  herself 
against  your  legs  or  your  chair,  and  purrs.  The 
similarity  of  the  attitude  assumed  under  such  ex- 
tremely different  circumstances  may  be  explained  by 
supposing  that  apparent  increase  of  size  is  useful, 
either  to  inspire  terror  or  to  attract  friendly  notice. 
It  seems  to  me  a  little  discordant  with  Darwin's 
Principle  of  Antithesis,  which  is,  that  gestures 
appropriate  to  a  strongly  marked  state  of  mind  will 
be  reversed  when  the  state  of  mind  is  reversed,  and 
this  whether  the  reversed  gestures  are  serviceable  or 
not.1 

Where  is  Angora,  and  what  is  the  history  of  the 
Angora  cat  ?  It  is  a  proof  of  a  want  of  curiosity  about 
certain  kinds  of  facts  that  very  few  people  can  ever 
tell  where  Angora  is,  though  the  name  is  so  familiar. 
Put  the  question  in  your  own  family-circle,  and  see 
how  many  know.  Angora  is  in  the  central  highlands 
1  Expression  of  the  Emotions,  Ch.  II. 


40  ROUND   THE  YEAR 

of  Asia  Minor,  and  has  been  a  place  of  note  for  2,000 
years.  Under  the  name  of  Ancyra  it  was  the  capital 
of  the  Roman  province  of  Galatia.  Not  only  the  cats, 
but  the  goats  and  dogs  of  Angora  have  thick,  long, 
and  silky  hair.  This  is  attributed  to  the  action  of  the 
climate,  which  is  very  cold  in  winter  and  hot  in 
summer,  and  we  are  told  that  all  these  animals  lose 
much  of  their  beauty  when  taken  away  from  their 
native  country. 

I  am  fond  of  a  cat,  and  I  admire  her  yet  more  than 
I  love  her.  The  cat  has  a  beauty  which  comes  of 
perfect  adaptation  to  a  life  of  emergencies.  She 
is  light,  swift,  adroit,  quick  to  perceive,  quick  to  act. 
She  is  most  at  home  on  trees,  where  her  wild  pro- 
genitors sought  their  prey.  The  stealthy  and  self- 
effacing  movement  by  which  a  cat  in  pursu  t  of  a  bird 
creeps  along  a  bough  reminds  us  of  a  tree-snake. 
The  peculiar  iris  of  a  cat,  which  can  change  the  pupil 
from  a  vertical  slit  to  a  circle,  is  excellently  suited  to 
an  animal  which  has  continually  to  pass  from  the 
shade  of  dense  foliage  into  full  sunlight,  and  back 
again  into  shade.  The  presence  of  mind  of  the  cat  is 
marvellous.  I  have  seen  a  cat  chased  by  two  dogs 
into  a  corner  of  a  yard  with  high  walls,  but  the 
cat  escaped  unharmed  by  a  gymnastic  feat  which 
involved  running  for  several  feet  up  a  vertical  wall, 
turning  in  the  air,  alighting  on  the  back  of  one  of  the 
dogs,  and  springing  thence  to  the  top  of  a  gate. 

Perhaps  no  animal  surpasses  the  cat,  and  few  rival 
her  in  the  power  of  alighting  on  her  feet  when 
accidentally  falling.  The  mechanics  of  this  wonderful 
accomplishment,  which  must  often  preserve  the  cat's 


PHI  AND  THETA  41 

life,  have  been  elucidated  by  the  instantaneous  and 
successive  photographs  of  Marey.1  One  serious 
difficulty  in  the  way  of  any  explanation  consists  in 
the  circumstance  that  a  fulcrum,  or  point  of  resist- 
ance, is  required  for  any  movement  of  rotation,  and  it 
is  not  easy  to  see  what  fulcrum  the  falling  cat  can 
employ.  It  had  been  previously  conjectured  that  the 
cat,  at  the  moment  of  letting  go  i-ts  hold,  might  use 
the  supporting  object  as  a  fulcrum  in  order  to  rotate 
its  body  as  required.  This  was  never  a  very  likely 
explanation,  considering  that  the  cat  is  usually  dis- 
lodged by  surprise,  and  that  the  rotation  caused  by  a 
sudden  shove-off  would  be  pretty  sure  to  continue  too 
long  or  not  long  enough.  A  second  hypothesis 
attributed  the  turning  of  the  body  of  the  cat  to 
the  resistance  of  the  air,  but  this  is  disposed  of,  like 
the  first,  by  examination  of  the  photographs.  The 
cat,  while  falling,  brings  the  feet  round  towards  the 
ground,  first  the  fore  feet,  and  then  the  hind  feet. 
This  is  accomplished  by  the  twisting  of  the  body.  In 
order  to  twist,  one  end  of  the  body  must  be  fixed,  or 
at  least  retarded  in  its  revolution.  When  suddenly 
let  go,  the  cat  gathers  up  her  fore  legs,  pressing  them 
against  her  neck,  and  as  near  as  possible  to  the  axis  of 
the  body.  In  this  position  their  moment  of  inertia  is 
a  minimum,  that  is,  they  are  as  free  as  possible  to 
rotate.  But  the  hind  legs  are  extended,  so  as  to  make 
their  moment  of  inertia  a  maximum,  that  is,  to  oppose 
the  strongest  possible  resistance  to  rotation.  The 
hind  legs  become  for  an  instant  a  fulcrum,  or 

1  Comptes  Rendus,  CIX.,   p.   714  (1894).      The   figures   are 
reproduced  in  Nature^  Nov.  22,  1894. 


42  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

relatively  fixed  point  against  which  the  fore  legs  can 
act.  Then  the  fore  legs  are  extended  and  the  hind 
legs  gathered  up  close  to  the  body,  when  the  inertia  of 
the  fore  legs  furnishes  a  fulcrum  for  the  rotation  of 
the  hind  ones.  The  cat  can  right  herself,  and  alight 
on  her  feet  in  a  very  short  space.  A  cat,  let  go  back 
downwards,  with  only  six  inches  of  clear  space 
beneath  her,  alighted  on  her  feet.  Those  who  are 
inclined  to  repeat  the  experiment  may  be  warned 
that  the  cat  dislikes  the  operation  extremely,  and 
that  repeated  trials  are  apt  to  cause  vomiting. 

A  cat  will  show  something  which  looks  like  affec- 
tion. But  I  fear  she  is  utterly  selfish  at  heart,  even 
when  she  is  happy,  even  when  she  affects  to  love  you. 
Theta  is  quite  demonstrative  before  meals,  and  bids 
you  notice  how  much  she  enjoys  your  company. 
But  when  the  meat  is  carried  out,  Theta  follows  it  to 
the  kitchen.  She  never  tries  to  ingratiate  herself 
when  she  has  been  fed  within  an  hour  or  two. 
Chamfort  detects  selfishness  in  her  very  gestures,— 
"II  ne  vous  caresse  pas  ;  il  se  caresse  sur  vous." 

I  have  set  down  my  general  impression  of  cat 
nature.  But  I  make  haste  to  add  that  not  every  cat 
is  hopelessly  selfish.  The  kindness  of  the  mistress 
now  and  then  meets  with  an  affectionate  return,  and 
the  maternal  instinct  has  been  known  to  incline  the 
cat  to  love  an  animal  of  a  different  species.  Mr. 
Hammond,  to  whom  the  readers  of  my  books  owe  so 
many  excellent  figures,  tells  me  that  a  puppy  was 
brought  into  his  house  just  at  the  time  when  the  cat 
had  been  robbed  of  her  kittens.  She  bestowed  upon 
him  some  of  her  maternal  regard,  and  to  this  day  will 


PHI  AND  THETA  43 

carry  about  a  piece  of  meat,  lay  it  before  him,  and 
gladly  see  him  devour  it.  Several  times  she  has 
brought  him  live  mice,  in  the  vain  hope  that  he  too 
would  become  a  mouser. 

The  dog  is  simple-minded  and  has  little  artifice. 
Phi  will  leave  his  dinner  to  follow  my  youngest  boy, 
who  delights  to  race  him  over  the  moors.  When  the 
snow  lay  on  the  hills  the  boy  had  his  sledge  out,  and 
Phi  would  scamper  by  his  side  and  bite  his  feet  in 
full  career.  He  was  glad  to  ride  by  his  master's  side 
down  the  slopes.  Even  when  put  on  the  sledge  by 
himself,  he  submitted  and  shot  down  the  hill-side 
without  flinching,  though  his  attitude  was  dejected, 
and  he  wore  an  anxious  air.  I  fancy  he  enjoyed  it  as 
little  as  a  man  subject  to  sea-sickness  enjoys  a  sail 
with  a  fresh  breeze,  but  he  never  shirked.  If  you 
make  a  companion  of  your  dog,  he  will  share  all 
risks  with  you. 

The  dog  attends  to  what  you  say ;  the  cat  does 
not,  unless  indeed  she  grows  in  time  to  understand  a 
particular  word  as  a  call  to  meat.  The  dog  has  the 
idea  of  conversation,  though  articulate  speech  has 
been  denied  him.  It  is  well  for  us  and  for  him  that 
he  cannot  speak,  for  I  am  certain  that  he  would  say 
the  same  thing  over  and  over  again  to  our  utter 
weariness.  Since  he  cannot  speak,  he  looks  at  us, 
and  there  is  great  expression  in  a  dog's  look,  which 
we  should  fail  to  appreciate  if  he  were  able  to 
accompany  it  by  foolish  speeches. 

Society  has  made  the  disposition  of  the  dog,  want 
of  society  the  disposition  of  the  cat.  The  wild  dog 
hunts  in  packs,  and  that  means  combination,  some 


44  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

degree  of  fellow-feeling,  some  degree  of  self-sacrifice. 
But  the  cat  is  solitary,  goes  her  own  way  in  silence, 
and  seeks  her  prey  unaided.  The  short-lived  but 
intense  love  of  the  mother-cat  for  her  young  ones  is 
the  only  generous  sentiment  in  cat-life. 

How  curious  that  an  animal  so  selfish,  so  cruel,  so 
fond  of  concealment  and  loneliness,  should  have  ever 
established  itself  in  the  dwellings  of  man  !  Other 
carnivores  of  like  tastes  have  done  the  same  thing.  The 
white-breasted  Martin  has  been  supposed  to  have  been 
the  common  domestic  vermin-killer  of  the  ancients. 
The  Genet  is  still  domesticated  here  and  there  on  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  and  makes  a  tolerable 
cat.1  Love  of  mice,  it  would  appear,  may  in  these 
animals  overpower  the  fear  of  man.  But  I  suspect 
that  these  cats,  feline,  musteline,  or  viverrine,  were 
first  brought  into  the  house  as  helpless  kittens,  and 
had  no  choice  in  the  matter.  Their  usefulness  and 
cleanliness  made  them  agreeable  inmates,  and  the 
cat  for  her  part  came  to  value  shelter,  warmth,  and 
food.  But  she  is  not  truly  of  the  human  family  ;  she 
is  a  wild  animal,  which  pays  us  the  compliment  of 
residence  with  us.  Her  attachment  is  to  the  house 

1  Rolleston,  "Domestic  Cats,  Ancient  and  Modern," Jotirnal 
of  Anatomy,  Vol.  II.  p.  57.  Rolleston  and  Hehn  believe  that 
no  domestic  cat  was  known  to  the  Greeks  and  Romans.  Some 
of  the  Greek  vases  in  the  British  Museum,  especially  F  207, 
F  126,  and  £171,  show  cat-like  animals  which  appear  to  be  tame 
and  companionable.  The  spotted  cat  led  in  a  string  (E  172)  is 
perhaps  a  Leopard  or  Panther,  which  was  familiar  to  the  Greeks, 
as  a  well-known  passage  of  the  Iliad  shows  (XXI.  572-8).  The 
domestication  of  the  cat  in  Egypt  must  surely  have  led  to  its 
occasional  introduction  into  Greece  and  Italy. 


PHI  AND  THETA  45 

and  not  to  us.  The  cat  never  longs  to  talk  to  us. 
So  little  altered  is  the  cat  by  long  domestication  that 
she  can  manage  perfectly  well  by  herself,  procuring 
her  own  food  and  bringing  up  her  young  in  the 
woods.  I  have  examined  a  dead  cat  which  had 
lurked  in  a  copse  for  about  a  year,  without  ever 
approaching  a  dwelling.  At  last  it  took  to  felony, 
stole  chickens,  and  had  to  be  shot.  It  was  sleek  and 
well-nourished,  more  muscular  than  common. 

The  history  of  our  breed  of  domestic  cats  is 
obscure.  Naturalists  are  agreed  that  it  is  not  identi- 
cal with  the  wild  cat  of  Northern  Europe.  Cuvier 
could  discover  no  anatomical  difference  between 
mummied  Egyptian  cats  and  our  tame  cats,  but  in 
this  family  the  specific  distinctions  are  sometimes 
very  slight.  Cats  have  been  domesticated  in  India 
from  remote  times.  The  first  mention  of  the  cat  in 
English  literature  that  I  have  been  able  to  discover  is 
in  Piers  Ploughman  : — 

"  There  was  no  ratton  of  the  rout,  for  all  the  reame  of  France, 
That  durste  bind  the  bell  about  the  catte's  neck."  J 

It  has  been  said  that  the  cat,  like  sugar  and  many 
other  useful  articles,  was  first  brought  to  Western 
Europe  in  the  ships  of  returning  Crusaders.  There 
are,  however,  indications  that  some  domestic  cat, 
whether  of  eastern  or  native  origin,  was  familiar  in 
these  islands  before  the  Crusades.  The  code  of 
Howell  dda,  published  with  a  translation  by  the 

1  The  Gesta  Romanorum,  which  Oesterley  supposes  to  have 
been  written  in  England  towards  the  end  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  therefore  about  a  hundred  years  before  Langland, 
mentions  the  same  fable. 


46  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Record  Commissioners,  dates  from  the  early  part  of 
the  tenth  century.  Some,  if  not  all,  of  the  following 
extracts,  probably  belong  to  that  time : — 

"  The  worth  of  a  cat  and  her  qualities,  this  is. 
i.  The  worth  of  a  kitten,  from  the  night  it  is  kittened 
until  it  shall  open  its  eyes,  is  a  legal  penny.  2.  And 
from  that  time,  until  it  shall  kill  mice,  two  legal 
pence  3.  And  after  it  shall  kill  mice,  four  legal 
pence  ;  and  so  it  always  remains.  4.  Her  qualities 
are  to  see,  to  hear,  to  kill  mice,  to  have  her  claws 
entire,  to  rear  and  not  to  devour  her  kittens ;  and  if 
she  be  bought,  and  be  deficient  in  any  one  of  those 
qualities,  let  one-third  of  her  worth  be  returned." 

The  worth  of  a  cat  was,  according  to  an  old  Welsh 
laWj  to  be  estimated  thus  :  the  cat  was  to  be  held 
by  the  end  of  the  tail,  with  her  nose  touching  an  even 
floor.  Wheat  was  then  to  be  poured  over  her,  until  the 
end  of  her  tail  was  hidden.  "  And  afterwards  this 
was  altered,  and  there  was  fixed  upon  her  four  legal 
pence." 

"  Three  animals  which  reach  their  worth  at  a  year : 
a  sheep,  a  cat,  and  a  cur." 

"  This  is  the  complement  of  a  lawful  hamlet : 
nine  buildings,  and  one  plough,  and  one  kiln,  and 
one  churn,  and  one  cat,  and  one  cock,  and  one  bull, 
and  one  herdman." 

"  Whoever  shall  sell  a  cat,  is  to  answer  for  her  not 
going  a-caterwauling  every  moon  ;  and  that  she  have 
ears,  eyes,  teeth  and  nails ;  and  being  a  good 
mouser."  1 

1  Ancient  Laws  and  Institutes  of  Wales>  pp.  136,  283,  426, 
495,  743- 


WHICH  ARE  THE  WETTEST  MONTHS  ?         47 

Cormac's  Irish  Glossary  of  the  tenth  century, 
says  that  poets  eat  the  flesh  of  the  pig,  dog,  and  cat. 

The  English  law,  until  a  quite  recent  date,  treated 
cats  and  dogs  as  wild  animals  incapable  of  being 
stolen.  Evtn  now  there  are  slight  differences  in  the 
eye  of  the  law  between  a  cat  or  a  dog  and  a  horse  or  a 
cow.  It  is  not  a  felony  to  steal  a  dog  for  the  first  time, 
and  accordingly  the  thief  is  often  indicted  for  steal- 
ing the  dog's  collar,  as  that  entails  a  more  severe 
punishment. 

The  status  of  the  dog  in  some  eastern  countries 
suggests  that  he  first  entered  dwellings  for  refuse  and 
scraps,  that  he  was  a  thief  and  a  parasite  long  before 
he  became  the  companion  of  man.  But  the  social 
qualities  of  the  dog  originated  still  earlier,  and 
were  developed  by  life  in  the  pack.  If  this  is  true  of 
the  dog,  it  ought  to  be  true  of  the  wolf  too.  Perhaps 
the  wolf  has  social  possibilities,  and  might  be  made 
into  a  delightful  companion  if  only  we  could  get  over 
the  awkwardness  of  the  first  approaches. 


WHICH  ARE  THE  WETTEST  MONTHS? 

The  old  name,  "  February  fill-dyke,"  seems  to 
point  to  long  experieiice  of  February  as  a  particularly 
wet  month.  On  questioning  my  friends  as  to  their 
impressions,  I  am  told  that  the  winter  months  are 
considered  decidedly  the  wettest,  late  spring  and 
early  summer  the  driest.  But  we  need  not  trust  to 
impressions  ;  let  us  compare  our  impressions  with  the 
rain-gauge.  Messrs*  Richardson  and  Co.  of  York 


48  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

give  us  the  figures  for  central  Yorkshire  in  their 
handbook  on  Artificial  Fertilisers.  They  have  taken 
the  average  monthly  rainfall  for  forty-six  years  (1849 
to  1894),  and  have  arranged  the  months  in  order  of 
dryness,  allowing  for  the  varying  number  of  days  in 
the  month.  "  This  brings  out  the  interesting  fact  that 
in  this  district  the  first  four  months  of  the  year  differ 
but  little  in  their  rainfall,  and  are  the  driest  of  the 
twelve  ;  that  the  amount  of  the  rainfall  rises  steadily 
through  May  and  June  to  July,  which  has  usually  a 
much  larger  rainfall  than  any  earlier  month.  After 
this  the  record  declines  evenly  through  August  and 
September,  only  to  rise  again  in  October,  which 
shares  with  July  the  joint  distinction  of  being  the 
wettest  of  the  twelve  ;  the  comparatively  dry  months 
of  November  and  December  leading  up  to  the  still 
drier  months  of  the  opening  year." 

The  next  thing  is  to  find  out  whether  the  distribu- 
tion of  the  rain  according  to  season  is  the  same  in 
other  parts  of  the  country.  Mr.  R.  H.  Scott l  gives 
the  monthly  rainfall  for  London.  March  is  the  driest 
month,  October  the  wettest,  a  secondary  maximum 
occurring  in  July.  The  seasonal  distribution  in 
London  is  therefore  much  the  same  as  at  York. 
But  when  we  examine  the  records  of  the  western 
counties  we  find  a  difference.  The  maximum  for  the 
year  comes  later,  in  November,  and  the  spring  is  not 
so  dry  as  in  the  eastern  counties. 

Are  our  beliefs  as  to  the  wetness  of  winter  and  the 
dryness  of  summer  mere  mistakes  ?     Not  at  all !     We  , 
judge  by  the  state  of  the  ground,  not  by  the  amount 
1  Elementary  Meteorologv^  Fig.  38. 


ANIMALS  WITH  AND  WITHOUT  COMBS        49 

of  rainfall.  In  the  cold  season  the  evaporation  is 
greatly  less  than  in  summer.  Hence  though  less  rain 
falls  in  December  and  January  than  in  July  and 
August,  it  fills  the  dykes  much  more  effectually.  The 
ground  is  wetter,  the  springs  and  rivers  fuller  in 
average  winter  than  in  average  summer  weather. 


ANIMALS  WITH  AND  WITHOUT  COMBS. 

I  sit  by  the  fire  and  lazily  watch  Theta  cleaning  and 
smoothing  her  fur.  She  not  only  washes,  but  combs 
her  fur  with  her  tongue.  We  have  all  allowed  some 
pet  Cat  to  lick  our  hands,  and  know  very  well  that 
she  has  a  rough  tongue.  Cuvier  tells  us  that  the 
Lion's  tongue  is  so  rough  that  it  can  be  used  to  rasp 
the  flesh  from  the  bones,  and  it  has  been  said  that  the 
Cat's  tongue  is  used  in  the  same  way.  In  the  case  of 
the  Lion,  the  horny,  recurved,  claw-like  papillae  are 
nearly  a  quarter  of  an  inch  long,  but  I  doubt  whether 
the  Cat's  tongue  is  an  efficient  rasp.  What  then  is  the 
use  of  the  horny  papillae  which  the  Cat  too  possesses  ? 
I  think  that  they  are  chiefly  serviceable  as  a  comb,  and 
that  it  is  because  the  Cat  bears  fur,  and  not  because 
she  devours  flesh  that  she  has  a  prickly  tongue  ?  Are 
then  all  fur-bearing  animals  provided  with  a  prickly 
tongue?  By  no  means.  There  are  other  ways  in 
which  fur  can  be  kept  sleek  besides  combing.  The 
Rabbit,  for  instance,  washes  his  face  like  a  Cat,  but 
there  are  no  prickles  on  his  tongue.  How  he  keeps 
his  fur  in  good  order  I  do  not  know.  The  Fur-seals 
would,  I  imagine,  find  it  an  unpleasant  task  to  lick 

E 


50  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

their  vast  bodies  all  dripping  with  salt  water.  But 
the  long,  coarse  and  deep-rooted  bristles  which  lie  in 
the  fur  keep  it  from  getting  matted  or  ruffled.  Some 
animals  can  use  their  claws  as  combs  ;  in  others  the 
pile  of  the  fur  is  too  short  to  need  combing  at  all. 

The  Cat  does  her  licking  by  preference  after  a  meal, 
probably  because  the  saliva  flows  most  freely  at  that 
time.  Then  she  likes  to  go  to  sleep.  The  three 
actions  of  feeding,  licking  and  sleeping  have  become 
associated,  not  only  in  the  Cat's  memory,  but  very  likely 
(so  uniform  is  the  practice)  in  the  nervous  mechanism 
of  her  body.  Some  men  associate  feeding,  smoking 
and  sleeping,  but  this  is  merely  the  habit  of  an 
individual,  and  not  ingrained  in  the  physical  organi- 
sation of  the  race.  There  are  men  who  eat  without 
wanting  either  to  smoke  or  sleep,  and  many  women  put 
knitting  in  the  place  of  smoking.  But  every  Cat  that 
I  have  known  loves  to  lick  after  eating,  and  to  sleep 
after  licking. 

Many  Birds  possess  a  useful  comb  in  the  claw  of 
the  middle  toe  of  the  foot,  this  has  been  noticed  in 
Owls,  Night-jars,  Herons,  Bitterns,  Cormorants, 
Gannets,  etc.  It  has  been  explained  as  a  means  of 
holding  the  prey  securely.  Gilbert  White  probably 
set  this  notion  afoot.  In  his  forty-seventh  letter  he 
says  of  the  Goatsucker  or  Nightjar : — "  I  saw  it  dis- 
tinctly more  than  once  put  out  its  short  leg  while  on 
the  wing,  and  by  a  bend  of  the  head  deliver  somewhat 
into  its  mouth.  If  it  takes  any  part  of  its  prey  in  its 
foot,  as  I  have  now  the  greatest  reason  to  suppose  it 
does  these  chafers,  I  no  longer  wonder  at  the  use  of 
its  middle  toe,  which  is  curiously  furnished  with  a 


I 


ANIMALS  WITH  AND  WITHOUT  COMBS         51 


FIG.  n.— Claw 
of  Heron, 
magnified. 


serrated  claw."  Mr.  E.  B.  Titchener1  holds  that  this 
explanation  cannot  be  right,  first,  because  the  serration 
is  small  in  extent ;  and  secondly,  because 
it  is  at  the  side  and  not  on  the  under 
surface  of  the  claw.  The  Goatsucker  is 
said  to  clean  its  mouth-bristles  with  its 
middle  toe,  but  the  mouth-bristles  and 
the  comb  do  not  always  co-exist  in  the 
same  species.  A  young  Heron  was  kept 
under  observation  to  see  how  it  em- 
ployed its  claws.  Its  food,  whether  living 
or  dead,  and  whether  taken  from  water 
or  from  the  ground,  was  never  touched 
at  all  by  the  feet.  The  only  use  to  which 
the  serrated  claw  was  put  was  that  of 

scratching  the  cheeks  and  throat.  In 
this  action,  which  occurred  most  fre- 
quently after  a  meal,  the  other  two 
front  toes  were  curved  down,  so  as  to 
leave  the  middle  claw  free.  Mr.  H.  R. 
Davies 2  confirms  Mr.  Titchener's  view 
by  some  fresh  observations.  A  Cor- 
morant was  found  to  have  the  fissures 
between  the  teeth  of  its  serrated  claw 
choked  with  fragments  of  down,  cor- 
responding with  that  on  the  body  of 
the  same  Bird.  Minute  fragments  of 
feather  were  afterwards  found  in  the 
claw  of  a  Barn  Owl.  The  comb  is 
sometimes  replaced  by  a  curved  blade  with  teeth, 
which  runs  along  the  inner  side  of  the  claw.  Such 

1  Nature,  Dec.  4,  1890.  2  Nature,  Feb.  19,  1891. 

E   2 


FIG.  12.  —  Claw 
of  Nightjar, 
magnified. 


52  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

a  blade  is  found  in  Guillemots,  Razor-bills,  Wild 
Duck,  Teal,  Gulls,  Oyster-catchers,  Golden  Plovers, 
Starlings,  Fieldfares,  Redwings,  Larks  and  many 
others.  In  Divers,  Partridges  and  Pheasants  the 
claw  is  flattened  so  that  its  inner  edge  forms  a 
scraper.  Where  a  comb  is  required  the  inner 


XS9 


X150 


FIG.  13. — Fore-leg  of  Bee  with  tibial  comb  ;  the  comb  more  highly  magnified  ;  three 
teeth  of  the  comb. 


edge  of  this  blade  becomes  divided  into  teeth. 
Young  Nightjars  have  only  the  blade,  but  old  ones 
have  a  well-developed  comb.  Mr.  Titchener  l 
adds  that  Audubon  once  shot  a  Frigate-bird,  and 
found  the  comb  crammed  with  the  Insects  which 
occur  on  the  head  and  especially  about  the  ears 
1  Nature )  Feb.  19,  1891 


ANIMALS  WITH  AND  WITHOUT  COMBS         53 


of  the  Bird.  Hudson1  is  quoted  for  the  observation 
that  Herons  are  remarkably  free  from  vermin,  while 
the  Roseate  Spoonbill  is  infested  by  them  ;  both  have 
the  serrated  claw.  The  Herons  (captive?)  were 
always  in  a  miserable  condition  ;  the  Spoonbills 
plump  and  healthy. 

The  Honey-bee  has  a  comb  in  the 
fore-leg,  lying  in  the  angle  between 
the  tibia  and  tarsus,  which  is  used 
to  cleanse  the  antennae  from  dust  or 
pollen.  Many  Beetles,  belonging  to 
the  section  Geodephaga,  have  a  comb 
of  like  structure  and  use,  which  forms 
a  deep  notch,  protected  by  a  spine,  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  fore  tibia. 

The  mouth,  whether  armed  with  a 
comb  or  not,  is  often  used  to  keep 
the  body  trim  and  clean.  Cock- 
roaches draw  their  long  antennae  from 
time  to  time  through  the  mouth. 
Simulium  larvae  cleanse  their  fan-like 
brushes  in  the  same  way.  The  larva 
of  the  Gnat  may  be  seen  busily  at 
work  clearing  its  body  of  attached 
Infusoria,  and  devouring  all  that  it  can  reach. 

There  are  some  animals,  such  as  bivalve  Mollusks 
which  have  no  effective  means  of  removing  foreign 
bodies  from  their  skin.  They  sometimes  find  it  the 
simplest  plan  to  coat  the  irritating  object  with 
nacreous  shell,  as  the  pearl-forming  Hyria  does  with 
the  images  thrust  under  its  mantle  by  the  crafty 
1  Argentine  Ornithology,  Vol.  II. 


FIG.  14.— Part  of 
fore-leg  of  Aepus, 
a  marine  Beetle, 
with  comb  upon 
the  tibia. 


54  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Chinese.  How  it  must  plague  the  Pond-mussel  to  be 
overrun,  as  it  almost  always  is,  with  Water-mites,  and 
yet  be  unable  even  to  scratch  itself!  The  Pinna 
harbours  a  small  crab,  the  Pea-crab,  within  its  shell, 
and  must,  one  would  think,  wince  at  times  as  the  hard, 
pointed  legs  press  against  its  unprotected  flesh.1  But 
use  is  everything.  Dogs  are  said  to  turn  melancholy 
if  they  are  kept  absolutely  clear  of  Fleas,  and  perhaps 
the  Mollusks,  whose  sedentary  life  in  a  dark  shell 
must  be  dulness  itself,  find  their  parasites  a  source  of 
mild  excitement. 


THE  MOON. 

Townsfolk  do  not  care  very  much  about  the  Moon, 
nor  observe  her  very  carefully.  Now  and  then  they 
admire  the  slender  crescent  in  the  western  sky,  or  the 
full  Moon  flooding  the  landscape  with  her  cold  light, 
but  the  Moon  is  of  little  practical  use  to  people  who 
live  in  well-lit  streets.  It  is  quite  different  in  the 
country,  where  there  are  no  gas-lamps.  If  there  is  a 
Moon,  we  travel  comfortably  along,  with  light  enough 
to  steer  our  course  ;  if  there  is  none,  we  are  liable  to 
step  off  the  foot-path  into  a  puddle,  or  to  walk  into  a 
bush.  Country  people  often  arrange  their  meetings 
so  as  to  walk  home  by  moonlight,  and  not  on  nights 
when  there  is  no  Moon. 

Even  if  the  sky  is  hidden  by  clouds,  the  Moon, 
especially  when  half  or  more  than  half-full,  can  send 
a  faint,  diffused  light  through  the  clouds.  It  is. seldom 

1  Another  species  of  the  Pea-crab  is  not  uncommon  within 
the  valves  of  the  edible  Mussel. 


THE   MOON  55 

quite  dark,  dark  as  a  pocket,  except  when  the  Moon 
is  below  the  horizon  and  the  stars  are  clouded. 

It  makes  a  great  practical  difference  to  us  whether 
the  Moon  rises  early  or  late.  If  she  does  not  appear 
till  we  have  got  home  and  gone  to  bed,  she  might  as 
well  never  appear  at  all.  Any  observant  person 
living  in  the  country  will  soon  find  out  that  two  or 
three  days  after  new  Moon,  she  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
evening,  being  then  near  to  setting  ;  that  the  full 
Moon  rises  about  sunset  and  shines  throughout  the 
night,  setting  at  sunrise  ;  and  that  the  waning  Moon 
rises  later  and  later  every  night  until  she  rises  in  the 
early  morning,  setting  a  little  before  sunset.  We 
commonly  see  the  Moon  at  night,  wrTenever  the  sky 
is  clear  and  the  Moon  from  three  to  twenty  days  old. 
After  that  we  see  little  of  her  at  night  until  after  the 
new  Moon.  But  even  at  times  when  we  do  not  see 
the  Moon  between  sunset  and  midnight,  we  can  often 
see  her  in  the  day-time.  In  the  earlier  part  of  her  last 
quarter,  the  Moon  rises  in  the  morning  and  sets  in 
the  afternoon.  The  Moon  in  her  first  quarter 
generally  rises  in  the  afternoon,  and  sets  early  in  the 
evening.  At  these  times  we  may  expect  to  see  the 
day-Moon,  if  we  look  out  for  her. 

I  shall  take  the  liberty  of  explaining  many  things 
which  everybody  is  supposed  to  know,  but  I  think  I 
need  not  explain  the  causes  of  new  and  full  Moon. 
Taking  so  much  for  granted,  I  will  mention  a  fact 
which,  as  I  find  by  experience,  is  not  known  to  all 
intelligent  and  well-read  people.  We  can  tell  by 
looking  at  the  moon  whether  she  is  waxing  or 


56  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

waning.  If  she  is  waxing,  the  illuminated  edge  is 
to  our  right  hand  ;  if  she  is  waning,  it  is  to  our  left 
hand.  The  reason  of  this  is  easily  seen  if  we  pass  a 
ball  round  the  head  in  a  room  lit  by  a  lamp  or  a 
single  window.  If  the  ball  is  made  to  circle  with 
clock-hands,  the  dark  side  will  travel  foremost,  and 
will  lie  to  the  right  hand,  while  the  ball  recedes  from 
the  light.  During  this  part  of  its  course  the  ball 
will  appear  more  and  more  illuminated  as  it  moves. 
When  the  ball  approaches  the  light,  the  bright  side 
will  travel  foremost,  and  will  lie  to  the  right  hand. 
If  we  reverse  the  direction  of  the  ball,  the  phases 
will  succeed  one  another  as  they  do  in  the  Moon. 
It  is  evident  from  this  that  the  Moon  circles  against 
clock-hands. 

The  bright  side  of  the  Moon  is  always  turned 
towards  the  sun,  whether  the  sun  is  visible  to  us 
or  not.  Hence  we  should  expect  that,  if  the  Moon 
is  less  than  full,  a  line  joining  the  centre  of  the  Moon 
and  the  centre  of  her  illuminated  edge  would  always 
point  towards  the  sun,  while  the  cusps  or  horns  of  the 
Moon  in  her  first  or  last  quarters  would  point  away 
from  the  sun.  But  if  we  come  to  watch  the  Moon 
we  shall  find  that  the  position  of  her  cusps  is  often 
different  from  what  we  had  expected.  For  instance, 
the  sun  may  be  well  below  the  horizon,  yet  the  cusps 
may  be  turned  a  little  downwards,  and  the  centre 
of  the  bright  edge  a  little  upwards.  Some  fanciful 
people  have  even  supposed  that  the  position  of  the 
Moon's  cusps  varies  according  to  the  weather  which 
we  are  going  to  have!  With  or  without  reason 


THE   MOON  57 

persons  of  strong  imagination  are  always  hoping  to 
find  some  connection  between  the  Moon  and  the 
weather.1 

The  rule  which  governs  the  position  of  the  Moon's 
cusps  and  bright  edge  is  easily  stated,  though  it  is 
not  so  easily  explained.  Imagine  a  great  circle  drawn 
across  the  star-sphere,  passing  through  the  centres  of 
both  sun  and  Moon.  That  circle  will  nearly  coincide 
with  the  zodiac,  and  it  may  be  taken  as  the  edge  of 
a  circular  plane  in  which  the  earth  lies.  The  centre 
of  the  bright  edge  of  the  Moon  and  the  centre  of 
the  line  joining  her  cusps  will  be  found  always  to 
lie  in  that  great  circle ;  the  bright  edge  being  turned 
towards  the  sun. 

When  the  Moon  is  almost  new,  she  presents  a  bright 
crescent,  enclosing  a  faintly  illuminated  surface,  which 
we  call  the  new  Moon  in  the  arms  of  the  old.  The 
light  thus  faintly  reflected  cannot  come  direct  from 
the  sun,  nor  is  the  Moon  self-luminous  ;  it  is  reflected 
from  the  earth.  At  new  Moon  the  Moon  is  between 
the  sun  and  the  earth,  and  the  earth  appears  full  to 
the  Moon,  reflecting  its  maximum  of  sunlight  upon 
the  Moon.  At  half-moon  the  "  earth-shine  "  is  much 
fainter,  for  then  only  half  the  earth's  disc,  as  seen 
from  the  Moon,  is  illuminated. 

What  is  the  apparent  size  of  the  Moon  ?  Very 
nearly  the  same  as  the  apparent  size  of  the  sun.  At 
eclipses  of  the  sun,  we  see  that  the  Moon  very  nearly 

1  In  some  parts  of  the  country  the  belief  is  that  when  the 
Moon  holds  the  mouth  of  her  cup  uppermost  it  will  be  fine,  but 
that  it  will  rain  if  the  cup  seems  to  be  turned  upside  down. 


58  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

or  quite  covers  the  sun's  disc.  We  cannot  give  the 
apparent  diameter  of  the  Moon  in  any  measure 
except  angular  measure.  It  is  about  £°.  720  such 
Moons  would  make  a  belt  going  all  round  the  horizon. 
360  such  Moons  would  make  an  arch  passing  through 
the  zenith  from  horizon  to  horizon. 

There  is  no  comparison  between  the  light  of  the 
sun  and  that  of  the  Moon.  If  every  part  of  the  sky 
were  as  bright  as  a  full  Moon  we  should  not  receive 
as  much  light  as  in  full  day -light.  Wollaston  esti- 
mated that  the  sun  gives  out  800,000  times  as  much 
light  as  the  full  moon. 

The  path  of  the  Moon  among  the  constellations 
can  be  observed  by  any  one  who  will  take  a  little 
trouble.  Her  motion  is  sufficiently  rapid  to  cause 
her  place  to  change  visibly  in  a  few  hours.  How 
rapid  is  it?  The  Moon  completes  the  circle  of  the 
heavens  in  27^  days.  She  therefore  travels  about 
13°  daily  on  an  average,  and  a  little  more  than 
her  own  diameter  in  an  hour.  The  shifting  of 
the  Moon  from  night  to  night  can  be  followed 
in  clear  weather  by  making  a  plan  of  the  con- 
stellations near  her  path,  and  noting  upon  it  the 
place  of  the  Moon  every  evening. 

By  carefully  noting  the  Moon's  path  among  the 
stars,  it  has  been  found  out : — 

1.  That   she    keeps   very   near    the    zodiac,    never 
departing   much   more   than   5°  from  the  ecliptic,  or 
apparent  path  of  the  sun. 

2.  That  she  does  not  take  exactly  the  same  path 
every    time,  and    does    not   end    exactly   where  she 


THE   MOON  59 

began.     It  takes  i8J  years  before  she  travels  over  the 
same  path  a  second  time. 

3.  That  she  travels   in  the  same  direction   as  the 
sun  and  the  chief  planets.     That  direction  is  against 
clock  hands,  contrary  to  the  direction  of  rotation  of 
the  star-sphere. 

4.  That  she  completes  her  circle  of  the  heavens  in 
27  days,  8  hours,  or  27^  days. 

Since  the  Moon  completes  her  round  in  27  J  days, 
it  would  seem  to  follow  that  we  shall  have  a  new 
Moon  every  27j  days.  But  this  is  not  the  case. 
We  have  a  new  Moon  only  when  the  Moon  is  as 
near  as  possible  to  the  sun,  on  the  same  meridian 
as  the  sun,  and  it  takes  more  than  27^  days  to 
bring  her  round  to  that  point.  For  during  all  the 
time  that  the  Moon  is  travelling  round  the  ecliptic,  the 
sun  is  travelling  too,  and  in  the  same  direction,  though 
much  slower.  When  the  Moon  has  completed  her 
circle,  she  has  still  to  go  over  the  distance  travelled 
by  the  sun  since  the  last  new  Moon.  How  much  is 
that  ?  The  sun  (apparently)  travels  round  the  heavens 
in  a  year.  He  will,  therefore,  travel  f  £-9°  or  about  a 
degree  a  day.  That  is  about  28°  in  28  days.  At 
the  Moon's  average  rate  of  12^°  per  day,  it  will  take 
her  a  little  over  two  days  to  travel  those  28°,  and  to 
overtake  the  sun,  after  she  has  completed  her  revolu- 
tion round  the  earth.  Hence  the  interval  between 
one  new  Moon  and  the  next  is  29!  days,  while  the 
revolution  of  the  Moon  round  the  earth  occupies  only 
271  days. 

What  is  the  figure  of  the  Moon's  path  in  space? 
If  we  could  look  at  the  Moon  from  a  very  great 


60  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

distance,  much  greater  than  the  diameter  of  the 
earth's  orbit,  and  if  our  point  of  view  were  in  the  line 
joining  the  North  and  South  Pole  of  the  heavens,  the 
Moon  might  be  seen  to  circle  round  the  earth,  while 
both  would  circle  round  the  sun.  By  careful  obser- 
vation of  the  place  of  the  Moon  in  the  background  of 
stars  her  path  in  space  could  be  mapped  with  any 
degree  of  precision  that  might  be  desired. 

We  should  find  if  the  trial  could  be  made  that  the 
path  of  the  Moon  in  space  is  so  nearly  identical  with 
the  earth's  orbit  that  very  close  observation  would  be 
required  to  distinguish  them.  In  its  course  round 
the  sun  the  Moon  would  make  thirteen  very  gentle 
undulations,  curving  outwards  from  the  earth's  orbit 
for  a  very  trifling  distance  thirteen  times,  and  curving 
a  little  within  it  as  often.  But  it  would  require  a 
very  large  sheet  of  paper  and  very  careful  drawing  to 
make  the  difference  apparent,  for  the  deviation  from 
the  earth's  orbit  would  not  at  most  exceed  about  J  per 
cent,  that  is  J  in.  in  100  inches.  (8  ft.,  4  inches.) 

The  times  of  rising  and  setting  of  the  Moon  are 
influenced  by  the  same  causes  which  affect  the  times 
of  rising  and  setting  of  the  sun,  but  not  quite  in  the 
same  way.  The  Moon  travels  nearly  along  the  zodiac. 
The  new  Moon  must  rise  and  set  nearly  at  the  same 
time  as  the  sun,  because  she  is  near  to  him.  The  full 
Moon  will  rise  at  about  the  same  time  that  the  sun 
sets,  and  set  at  about  the  time  that  he  rises,  because 
she  is  then  opposite  to  him  in  the  zodiac.  Therefore 
in  winter,  when  the  sun  rises  late  and  sets  early,  the 
new  Moon  will  do  the  same,  but  the  full  Moon  will 
rise  early  and  set  late.  In  summer  the  case  will  be 


THE  MOON  61 

just  reversed.  The  new  Moon  is  longer  above  the 
horizon  in  summer  than  in  winter ;  the  full  Moon  is 
longer  above  the  horizon  in  winter  than  in  summer. 

The  Moon's  face  exhibits  a  pattern  which  is  always 
much  the  same,  for  the  Moon  turns  the  same  face 
towards  the  earth.  There  is,  however,  a  belt  about 
the  Moon,  occupying  about  one-fifth  of  her  surface, 
which  is  sometimes  visible  from  the  earth  and  some- 
times not.  The  pattern  on  the  Moon  was  formerly 
supposed  to  be  due  to  continents  and  seas,  but 
telescopic  examination  shows  that  the  Moon  has 
no  water  on  her  surface.  More  than  this,  she  has 
either  no  atmosphere  at  all,  or  an  atmosphere  very 
much  less  dense  than  that  of  the  Earth.  When  she 
passes  between  us  and  a  star,  the  star  disappears 
suddenly,  instead  of  being  lost  in  haze.  No  clouds 
are  even  seen  to  hide  the  pattern  of  the  Moon's 
surface. 

The  telescope  reveals  the  cause  of  the  peculiar 
markings.  Lord  Rosse's  great  telescope  magnifies 
6,000  diameters,  and  should  have  the  effect,  apart 
from  disturbing  causes,  of  showing  us  the  Moon  at  a 
distance  of  only  thirty-nine  miles.  But  no  telescope 
is  optically  perfect,  and  the  earth's  atmosphere  greatly 
interferes  with  clear  vision.  We  do  not  get  nearly  so 
good  a  view  of  the  Moon  as  the  magnifying  power  of 
the  largest  telescopes  would  lead  us  to  expect.  The 
patches  and  dots  upon  the  Moon  are  resolved  by  a 
good  telescope  into  crater-like  mountains,  casting 
very  sharp  shadows.  Some  of  these  craters  are  very 
large.  Tycho  has  a  diameter  of  more  than  fifty  miles, 
and  covers  an  area  almost  as  large  as  the  West  Riding 


62  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

of  Yorkshire.  They  are  commonly  believed  to  be 
true  volcanic  craters,  but  some  of  them  are  unlike 
any  terrestrial  craters.  There  are  deep  circular 
depressions,  ringed  about  by  steep  walls,  plains  ringed 
in  the  same  way,  craters  with  central  elevations,  and 
circles  of  craters,  as  well  as  small  craters  of  the  usual 
terrestrial  form. 

The  fact  that  the  Moon  turns  always  the  same  face 
towards  the  earth  implies  that  during  every  revolution 
round  the  earth  she  rotates  upon  her  own  axis.  If  a 
man  walks  round  a  tree,  always  keeping  his  face 
towards  it,  he  will  face  all  quarters  of  the  sky  in  turn, 
that  is,  he  will  rotate.  He  will  rotate  in  the  same 
direction  as  that  in  which  he  walks  round  the  tree. 
Thus  the  Moon  rotates  once  in  2/J  of  our  days,  and 
rotates  against  clock-hands. 

If  we  could  stand  on  the  surface  of  the  Moon,  we 
should  see  great  and  small  craters,  some  towering 
into  the  sky,  others  low  on  the  horizon.  The  distant 
ones  would  be  clear  and  sharp,  for  there  are  no 
clouds  or  haze.  We  should  see  no  streams  or  pools, 
no  long,  narrow,  branching  valleys,  and  probably 
no  water-worn  rocks  or  rounded  pebbles.  Some 
observers,  however,  think  that  they  can  detect  upon 
the  Moon  traces  of  the  former  action  of  water  and 
even  of  moving  ice. 

Let  us  suppose  ourselves  planted  on  that  side  of 
the  Moon  which  is  turned  towards  the  earth,  and  that 
the  sun  shines  upon  us.  The  irregular  surface  of  the 
ground  is  lit  by  a  fierce  light,  and  all  objects  cast 
deeper  shadows  than  are  ever  seen  on  earth.  Though 
it  is  day,  the  sky  is  black  and  the  stars  shine  with 


THE  MOON  63 

intense  brilliancy.  The  tender  blue  of  the  earthly 
sky  has  vanished  ;  it  was  entirely  due  to  water- 
vapour,  and  there  is  no  water  here.  The  sun  is  too 
dazzling  to  behold,  and  his  heat  so  scorching  that  no 
human  being  could  endure  it  unscreened.  He  seems  of 
immense  size,  for  around  his  disc  is  a  glory  of  extra- 
ordinary brightness  and  great  extent,  which  flashes 
like  an  aurora  borealis.  The  earth  hangs  in  the 
sky  as  a  vast  disc  which  goes  through  its  phases 
and  appears  dark,  partly  dark,  or  wholly  bright  at 
different  times.  She  is  thirteen  times  as  large  as  the 
full  Moon  seen  from  the  earth,  and  is  almost  a 
fixed  object  in  the  lunar  heavens.  Her  edge  is  fringed 
with  a  narrow  luminous  cloud.  The  day  with  its 
insupportably  bright  sunlight  lasts  27^  earth-days  ; 
the  year  is  about  as  long  as  an  earth-year.  Day  and 
night  are  nearly  equal  throughout  the  year,  but  the 
height  of  the  noon-day  sun  varies  according  to 
latitude  and  season,  just  as  it  does  upon  earth. 

It  is  a  help  toward  understanding  eclipses  and  other 
lunar  phenomena  to  form  a  true  mental  picture  of 
the  sun,  moon,  and  earth.  Let  the  earth  be  a  large 
marble,  one  inch  in  diameter  ;  then  the  Moon  will  be 
a  small  pea  at  a  distance  of  2\  feet,  and  the  sun  a 
9  foot  globe  at  a  distance  of  320  yards.  A  hollow 
globe  as  big  as  the  sun,  with  the  earth  in  the  centre, 
would  give  ample  room  for  the  Moon  to  revolve  at 
her  usual  distance. 

If  the  position  of  the  sun,  earth  and  Moon  with 
respect  to  one  another  are  noted  at  a  particular  date, 
it  will  be  found  that  in  about  eighteen  years  they  will 
again  occupy  very  nearly  the  same  position.  Accord- 


64  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

ingly  eclipses,  both  of  the  sun  and  Moon  may  be 
expected  to  recur  after  this  interval  of  time.  But 
the  correspondence  is  never  quite  exact,  and  the  rule 
is  an  imperfect  one.  In  old  times,  before  the  motions 
of  the  Moon  were  thoroughly  understood,  there  was 
no  better  way  of  predicting  eclipses  than  this,  and  it 
was  found  to  work  tolerably  well. 


SPRING  CROCUSES. 

The  Snowdrop  heads  the  processio-n  of  spring 
flowers.  Then  comes  the  Crocus,  and  a  little  later, 
the  Hyacinth.  The  Narcissi  follow,  and  keep  us  gay 
till  early  summer,  when  the  gardener  has  neither 
space  nor  leisure  for  all  the  things  that  are  ready  to 
come  into  bloom  at  once. 

What  tempts  the  Crocus  to  flower  so  early,  before 
the  snow  has  quite  gone,  and  when  night-frosts  may 
be  expected  for  two  months  yet?  It  must  be  an 
advantage  to  the  plant  that  its  flowers  appear  before 
the  grass  begins  to  grow,  and  its  attractiveness  to  the 
Insects  which  emerge  so  early  will  be  unusually  strong. 
The  autumn-flowering  Crocuses  enjoy  a  like  advan- 
tage. Both  find  it  hard  to  bring  their  wares  to 
market,  and  there  are  few  customers  ;  but  then  there 
is  little  or  no  competition  among  the  dealers. 

Can  we  be  sure  that  the  Crocus  is  insect-fertilised  ? 
Its  bright  colours  and  large  size  testify  to  its  need  of 
attracting  the  notice  of  animals,  and  the  slender  tube 
of  the  flower  is  filled  to  the  brim  with  honey.  Hermann 
M tiller  can  tell  you  what  Insects  fertilise  the  purple 


SPRING  CROCUSES  65 

Spring  Crocus  (C.  vernus).  He  has  seen  a  common 
night-moth  (Plusia  gamma]  and  the  Painted  Lady 
Butterfly  and  the  Humble-bee  visiting  the  flowers. 
The  anthers  open  first  and  shed  their  pollen  ;  after- 
wards the  stigmas  ripen  and  expand.  If  good-sized 
Insects  are  attracted  to  the  flowers,  it  is  well,  for  then 
the  pollen  will  be  laid  upon  the  stigmas  of  another 
plant ;  but  failing  this,  the  stigmas  curve  downwards 
upon  the  anthers,  and  get  dusted  ;  fertilised,  but  not 
cross-fertilised. 

Our  common  yellow  spring  Crocus  is  C.  aureus,  a 
native  of  Turkey,  Greece  and  Asia  Minor.  It  is 
known  by  its  short  and  little-branched  stigmas,  and  its 
suddenly  diverging  anthers.  Crocus  vernus >  the 
purple  or  white  spring  Crocus  of  the  gardens,  is  a 
native  of  the  Alps.  Its  stigmas  are  of  a  deep  orange 
colour,  and  contrast  strongly  with  the  rest  of  the 
flower. 

The  seeds  of  the  Crocus  ripen  at  midsummer,  and 
should  be  sown  at  once  if  it  is  intended  to  raise  bulbs 
from  them.  The  plant  raised  from  seed  is  not  ready 
to  flower  for  two  or  three  years.  Nearly  all  our 
Crocus  bulbs  are  grown  in  Holland  and  Lincoln- 
shire. 

Plants  which  bloom  very  early  or  very  late  in  the 
year,  do  so  at  the  expense  of  food  laid  up  in  the 
previous  summer.  Hence  they  are  often  bulbous, 
containing  much  starch  or  sugar  in  the  coats  of  the 
bulb,  which  are  either  future  leaves,  or  the  bases  of 
old  ones.  Sometimes  they  have  tuberous  roots,  like 
Cyclamen,  or  a  perennial,  woody  stem,  like  the 
Mezereon.  Annual  plants,  with  thin,  fibrous  roots 

F 


66 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


and  little  wood,  can  hardly  flower  except  in  seasons 
when  the  bright  sun  makes  food-formation  easy. 

Let  us  take  an  ungerminated  bulb  of  last  year's 
growth,  and  examine  it.  It  has  a  circular  scar  at  its 
base,  round  which  the  roots  spring,  when  there  are 


FIG.  15. — A  crocus  corm.     a,    the  base  ;    b.   side  view  ;    c,  section,    showing  two 
shoots  ;  d,  starch  gianules.     a — c  are  of  the  natural  size  ;  d  is  magnified. 


any.  Above  this,  the  bulb  is  covered  by  an  outer 
tunic,  consisting  of  a  membrane  stiffened  by  many 
prominent,  vertical  fibres,  with  frequent  junctions. 
When  such  a  membrane  shrivels  or  rots  in  the  earth, 
it  becomes  reduced  to  a  network  with  a  ragged  fringe, 


SPRING  CROCUSES  67 

such  as  we  have  now  before  us.  It  is  firmly  attached 
to  the  circular  scar,  but  free  above.  Now  and  then 
the  outer  tunic  is  double,  those  of  two  seasons  per- 
sisting together. 

If  we  strip  off  the  outer  tunic,  we  expose  a  white 
mass,  not  formed  of  overlapping  coats  as  in  a 
Hyacinth  or  Onion  bulb,  but  solid  and  nearly  uniform 
in  texture.  From  this,  and  usually  from  its  top, 
spring  the  shoots,  which  will  rise  into  the  air,  bearing 
leaves  and  flowers.  There  are  no  roots  at  present ; 
the  old  roots  are  withered  and  the  new  ones  do  not 
form  until  the  shoots  begin  to  push.  Surrounding 
the  shoots  are  several  other  tunics,  of  the  same  tex- 
ture as  the  outer  one,  but  of  smaller  size.  They  are 
like  circular  capes,  laid  one  above  another  to  protect 
the  tender  shoots.  At  first,  these  inner  tunics  are  all 
attached  at  various  levels  to  the  white  mass,  but  as 
the  mass  enlarges  the  lowest  tunic  becomes  detached 
and  is  slipt  upwards,  leaving  a  distinct  circle  on  the 
surface  a  little  above  the  basal  scar,  to  show  where  it 
was  once  attached.  The  remaining  tunics  often 
remain  in  place  ;  if  you  pull  them  off  they  leave 
similar  circular  lines  or  scars. 

Since  the  chief  part  of  the  bulb  is  not  made  up  of 
scales  or  coats,  it  is  not  in  technical  language  a  bulb 
at  all,  but  a  corm.  What  is  the  substance  of  the  corm 
made  of?  Pare  a  slice  off,  and  put  it  into  weak 
iodine  solution  (tincture  of  iodine  diluted  with  water). 
Blue  specks  immediately  appear  on  the  cut  surface, 
and  before  long  it  turns  blue-black  all  over.  Blue 
grains  wash  out  into  the  solution.  If  these  are 
examined  by  the  microscope,  they  are  found  to  be 

F  2 


68  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

rounded  and  marked  with  concentric  lines.  The 
shape,  the  markings,  and  the  blue  colour  with  iodine 
prove  that  these  are  grains  of  starch.  In  the  Crocus 
corm  many  of  the  grains  are  compound,  consisting  of 
several  which  cohere  together.  A  great  part  of  the 
corm  is  composed  of  cells  filled  with  starch.  There  is 
also  some  sugar  and  a  very  little  albumen.  This  food 
is  laid  up  for  the  future  use  of  the  plant,  and  may  be 
employed  as  human  food.  In  Syria,  Crocus  corms 
are  sold  in  the  markets,  roasted  and  eaten. 

Now  take  a  razor  or  a  sharp  knife,  and  slice  the 
corm  through  the  middle,  taking  care  to  cut  the 
principal  shoot  symmetrically.  We  have  now  cut 
through  the  mass  of  starchy  food,  and  lying  in  it,  we 
see  two  or  three  greenish  or  yellow  streaks.  These 
are  bundles  of  vessels,  many  of  which,  if  carefully  fol- 
lowed, will  be  found  to  pass  into  the  bases  of  the  leaves 
or  tunics.  The  shoot,  when  cut  through,  is  seen  to  be 
made  up  of  leaves  in  successive  layers.  The  outer 
ones  are  protective  merely,  and  soon  wither ;  then 
come  leaves,  which  will  turn  green  and  form  the 
assimilating  organs.  Within  these  are  the  flower- 
sheath  and  the  flower  itself.  The  yellow  petals  and 
the  ovary  with  its  numerous  seeds  can  be  made  out 
in  a  shoot  an  inch  long,  and  with  the  help  of  a  lens, 
in  still  smaller  shoots. 

All  the  parts  which  we  call  tunics,  leaves  and 
sheath,  and  not  only  these,  but  the  sepals,  petals, 
stamens  and  carpels  of  the  flower,  are  essentially 
leaves,  various  in  form  and  function,  but  alike  in 
origin. 

If  the  tunics  of  the  corm  are  leaves,  what  is  the 


SPRING  CROCUSES 


69 


corm  itself?  It  bears  roots,  and  leaves,  and  flowers. 
Clearly  it  must  be  the  stem,  a  stem  which  is  very 
short,  thick  and  fleshy,  but  as  much  a  stem  as  a 
cabbage-stalk  is.  You  know  the  prostrate  stem  of 


X12 


fs 


X24. 


FIG.  16. — Shoot  of  crocus,  laid  open  to  show  the  flower  within.  Also  the  pistil 
removed  from  the  same  flower ;  pt,  protective  tunics,  three  in  number ; 
_fl,  foliage-leaves,  turned  down,  so  as  not  to  interfere  with  the  view  of  the  flower  ; 
/y,  flower-sheath  or  bract ;  fs\  sheaths  of  other  flowers  ;  /,  petals  ;  a,  anthers 
of  the  stamens ;  st,  style,  with  three  stigmas  ;  o,  ovary. 

an  Iris  or  a  Solomon's  Seal.  Imagine  it  set  upright 
and  reduced  in  length  to  a  mere  button,  from  which 
leaf  after  leaf  springs.  The  flowers  are  borne  on 
the  low,  cup-like  summit,  and  there  are  eyes  or  buds, 
as  we  shall  shortly  see. 


70  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

I  think  it  likely  that  remote  progenitors  of  the 
Crocus  had  an  upright,  fleshy  stem,  with  sheathing 
leaves  and  flowers  at  the  top.  The  necessity  of 
storing  up  a  large  supply  of  food  for  flowering  out 
of  the  usual  season,  seems  to  have  caused  the  stem 
to  enlarge  in  width,  and  diminish  in  height,  until 
it  became  a  sphere,  and  even  a  button.  The  leaf- 
bases  became  crowded  together ;  the  lowest  dis- 
appeared as  foliage-leaves,  leaving  only  a  web  of 
fibres,  such  as  you  may  see  at  the  base  of  a  palm- 
leaf.  Such  reduced  leaves  form  the  tunics  or  pro- 
tective layers.  Normal  foliage-leaves  and  flowers 
were  given  off  from  the  summit  of  the  stem  as 
before.  The  structure  of  the  Crocus-stem  and  its 
history  from  year  to  year  are  peculiar,  yet  not  so 
peculiar  but  that  we  can  usefully  compare  it  with 
plants  of  a  more  ordinary  kind. 

It  is  well  worth  while  to  dissect,  out  all  the  parts  of 
a  young  flowering  corm.  Take  a  Crocus  in  flower, 
separate  one  of  the  small,  new  corms  from  the  old 
one,  and  strip  off  its  envelopes  one  after  another. 
First  come  the  brown  and  withered  tunics,  then  a 
number  of  soft,  white  sheaths  (the  new  tunics).  Next 
come  the  foliage-leaves,  one  enclosing  another.  Dissect 
these  carefully  away  from  the  corm  with  needles,  and 
observe  that  each  has  a  white,  ring-like  scale  at  its 
base,  which  is  plainer  in  the  outermost  leaf  than  in 
the  others.  Even  the  strap-like  foliage-leaf  seems  to 
be  derived  from  a  sheathing,  tubular  leaf.  Inside  the 
foliage-leaves  come  the  flowering  branches.  Each  is- 
apparently  enclosed  by  a  single  whitish  sheath  or 
bract,  but  if  this  is  slit  open,  it  will  be  found  to 


SPRING  CROCUSES  71 

be  double,  a  narrow  pointed  bract  springing  from 
the  inside  of  the  outer  tubular  one.  Both  are  united 
to  the  flower-stalk  beneath  the  ovary. 

I  will  leave  you  to  make  out  the  structure  of 
the  Crocus-flower,  which  the  common  manuals  of 
Botany  will  help  you  to  do,  if  you  require  help 
at  all.  Let  us  carry  the  life-history  a  stage  or  two 
further.  After  flowering,  the  foliage-leaves  remain 
active  for  several  months,  and  fill  the  young 
corm  with  food.  All  parts  of  the  flowers,  except 
the  slowly-ripening  ovaries,  wither  away.  By  the 
end  of  June  or  the  beginning  of  July,  the  seeds 
are  ripe,  the  seed  vessel  raises  itself  from  the  ground, 
opens  its  valves,  and  the  seeds  are  dispersed.  Then 
the  foliage-leaves  turn  brown,  the  roots  wither,  and 
the  plant  enters  upon  its  resting-stage. 

There  is  now  no  outward  sign  of  change  or  growth. 
Hardly  anything  is  taken  in  or  given  out  for  months 
together,  and  the  conn  seems  dead.  Dead  it  is  not, 
however,  for  during  this  resting-stage,  and  especially 
in  the  earlier  part  of  it,  next  year's  corm  is  matured. 
This  looks  like  a  new  plant,  budded  out  from  the  old 
one  ;  but  it  is  really  only  the  enlarged  base  of  a 
branch — the  branch  upon  which  the  leaves  and 
flowers  of  the  preceding  spring  were  borne.  In 
summer  the  leaves  and  flowers  wither,  and  the  branch 
dies  down  to  the  enlarged  base.  This  does  not  wither, 
but  absorbs  the  nutritive  substance  of  the  old  corm. 
and  at  length  completely  replaces  it,  being  provided 
with  a  new  set  of  tunics,  and  later  on  with  a  new  set 
of  roots. 

Other  branches  may  form  within  the  lower  leaves, 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


and  produce  new  corms.  In  some  species  of  Crocus 
the  old  corm  produces  a  considerable  number  of  new 
ones.  If  a  yellow  or  blue  garden-crocus  is  planted 
just  below  the  surface  of  the  ground,  it  will  divide 
into  two  or  three  smaller  ones,  which  only  attain 
their  full  size  after  two  or  more  years  of  growth. 

It  will  clear  up  your  notions  about  corms  and  bulbs 
to  take  a  kitchen-onion,  and    slice    it   through    the 


FIG.  17. — Bulb  of  Onion,  in  section. 

middle.  Almost  the  whole  bulb  is  made  up  of  leaf- 
bases.  In  the  centre  we  can  make  out  the  unde- 
veloped head  of  flowers.  Towards  the  base  is  a 
fleshy  knob  from  which  all  the  leaves  and  flowers  and 
roots  spring.  This  is  clearly  the  greatly  reduced 
stem.  If  you  suppose  that  three  or  four  such  bulbs 
had  a  large  common  stem,  we  should  get  something 
like  the  corm  of  the  Crocus.  Or  suppose  that  a 
Crocus  corm  had  only  one  large  shoot,  and  that  the 


CATKINS  73 

stem  dwindled  to  an  insignificant  size,  we  should  get 
something  like  the  bulb  of  the  Onion. 

Lay  the  cut  surface  of  the  Onion-bulb  in  a  saucer 
of  dilute  iodine  solution.  It  docs  not  change  colour. 
The  Onion  contains  no  starch,  but  plenty  of  sugar 
instead. 

CATKINS.1 

March  16,  1895. — This  is  the  first  entirely  pleasant 
day  of  spring.  A  soft  air,  a  gentle  west  wind,  con- 
tinuous though  veiled  sunshine.  The  long  grass  has 
been  turned  grey  by  the  hard  winter  weather  of 
January  and  February,  but  close  to  the  ground  green 
tufts  are  already  springing. 

Walking  this  morning  in  a  little  copse,  I  saw 
catkins  on  the  Hazel  and  Alder.  The  buds  of  the 
Willow  are  beginning  to  part,  and  to  show  a  silvery 
gleam  from  the  hairs  which  clothe  their  bracts.  Snow- 
drops (much  later  than  usual)  are  in  flower.  The 
Crocus,  too,  is  flowering,  but  only  in  favoured  spots. 
The  ten  weeks'  frost  has  kept  them  back  far  beyond 
their  usual  time. 

Many  seeds  dispersed  by  the  gales  of  winter  are 
beginning  to  germinate.  The  seedlings  of  the  Syca- 
more are  plentiful,  some  just  pushing  out  their  green 
radicles  from  the  scar  which  marks  the  former  adhe- 
sion of  the  seed-vessel  to  its  fellow,  others  just 
escaped  from  the  seed-vessel,  but  still  enveloped  in 
the  brown  seed-coat,  others  quite  free,  and  beginning 

1  The  word  (German  Katzcheri)  means  kitten.  In  some 
country  places  the  catkins  of  the  Sallow  are  called  kittens  and 
cat  stalls. 


74  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

to  unroll  their  crumpled  seed-leaves.  The  pink  seeds 
of  the  Elm  are  to  be  seen  here  and  there,  newly  dis- 
engaged from  the  winged  fruits.1  A  few  Birch-cones 
lie  about  the  roots  of  the  trees  from  which  they  fell, 
and  some  still  hang  on  the  bough.  Some  are  still 
full  of  winged  fruits,  but  most  are  empty  or  nearly 
so.  The  fruits  of  the  Birch  are  scattered  far  and 
wide  over  the  fields.  I  found  some  which  were  250 
paces  from  the  nearest  Birch-tree,  and  there  seems  no 
reason  why  they  should  not  travel  miles  through  the 
air  in  a  full  gale  of  wind. 

My  eyes  are  not  so  good  as  they  were  now,  that  I 
am  turned  fifty,  and  it  is  a  great  help  to  have  quick- 
sighted  boys  as  companions  of  my  walks.  Years  ago 
I  trained  my  boys  to  observe  the  common  sights  of 
the  country,  and  now  I  reap  the  benefit  as  well  as 
they.  The  schoolmaster  might  heap  up  natural  know- 
ledge if  he  could  learn  to  see  with  his  boys'  eyes  as 
well  as  his  own,  for  the  curious  school-boy  will  work 
over  the  country  like  a  dog,  putting  his  head  into 
every  hole.  But  too  often  there  is  no  one  to  share 
the  boys'  little  discoveries,  no  one  to  give  the  gentle 
shove  that  is  wanted  at  a  sticking  place.  The  school- 
master is  of  course  a  learned  man,  perhaps  a  divine. 
As  he  strolls  along  he  is  thinking  of  a  new  theory  of 
the  Absolute,  or  of  a  method  in  Higher  Algebra,  or 
of  next  Sunday's  sermon,  or  of  a  disagreeable  letter 
that  came  by  the  morning's  post.  If  the  school- 
master cannot  stoop,  or  run,  or  climb,  or  tell  the 
notes  of  the  birds,  or  mark  the  common  flowers  (and 

1  The  seeds  are  those  of  the  Witch  Elm.  The  Common  Elm 
never  seeds  in  Britain. 


CATKINS  75 

many  excellent  schoolmasters  can  do  none  of  these 
things),  it  would  be  well  to  find  an  active  and  obser- 
vant deputy  to  join  the  rambles  of  the  boys.  A 
master  in  sympathy  with  the  boys  and  with  nature 
would  learn  almost  as  much  from  the  boys  as  the 
boys  would  learn  from  him. 

If  you  have  boys  and  girls  about  you,  whether  your 
own  or  other  people's,  take  them  into  the  woods  and 
fields.  Try  to  answer  their  questions  ;  try  to  put 
better  questions  than  they  can  think  of.  Never  mind 
the  technical  names  ;  leave  all  your  Latin  and  Greek 
at  home.  One  of  the  best  (and  hardest)  questions  is : 
— "  What  is  the  use  of  this  to  the  plant  or  animal  ?  " 
Do  not  be  discouraged  if,  as  will  generally  happen, 
no  one  can  tell.  You  will  grow  a  little  more  expert 
with  practice,  but  to  the  last  you  will  find  many 
simple-looking  questions  quite  insoluble.  Never 
shrink  from  saying,  "  I  don't  know."  These  words 
are  always  on  the  lips  of  a  well-trained  and  inquisitive 
naturalist.  It  is  dismal,  though  common  enough,  to 
put  words  in  the  place  of  knowledge.  "  Wo  Begriffe 
fehlen,  da  stellt  ein  Wort  zur  rechten  Zeit  sich  em." 

But  I  am  running  to  words  myself.  Let  me  take 
up  some  special  thing  for  examination  and  report.  I 
will  study  the  Catkins,  which  will  be  plentiful  for  the 
next  fortnight  or  three  weeks.  Alder  and  Hazel 
catkins  are  already  to  be  seen  everywhere,  and  the 
Birch  and  Willow  will  be  out  in  a  few  days.1 

1  The  descriptions  which  follow  will  be  found  dry  and  pretty 
nearly  unintelligible  to  those  who  have  not  the  catkins  and  cones 
actually  before  them.  Descriptions  cannot  stand  in  place  of 
the  things  themselves,  but  are  merely  a  help  to  the  observer. 


76  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

The  catkins  of  the  Alder,  like  most  other  catkins, 
appear  before  the  leaves.  The  tip  of  the  branch  forks 
beyond  the  furthest  leaf-bud,  and  each  fork  divides  in 


FIG.  18. — Flowering  branch  of  Alder  {Alnus glutinosa)^  with  catkins  and  cones. 
a,  a  ripe  cone. 


two,  three  or  more  branches.  All  the  branches  of  the 
same  fork  carry  flowers  of  the  same  kind,  either  male 
(stamen-bearing)  or  female  (ovule-bearing).  It  cannot 


CATKINS 


77 


be  decided  by  mere  inspection  whether  this  is  a  case 
of  true  forking,  or  whether  one  branch,  that  which 
bears  male  flowers,  is  given  off  laterally,  while  the 
true  termination  of  the  stem  bears  the  female  flowers. 
The  male  flowers  are  borne  upon  spikes  (catkins)  two 
or  even  three  inches  long,  which  are  at  first  rigid,  but 
afterwards  become  flexible  and  droop  ;  the  spikes  of 
female  flowers  (cones)  never  droop,  but  tend  to  become 
more  erect  during  and  after  flowering.  The  flowering 
spikes  were  all  formed  last  summer,  and  could  be  seen 
in  their  unexpanded  state  at 
any  time  during  the  winter ; 
they  are  from  the  first  unpro- 
tected by  envelopes  of  any 
kind. 

On  one  of  the  drooping 
male  catkins  we  see  a  great 
number  of  scales  given  off 
from  a  central  stem.  The 
scales  are  now  parting,  and 
between  them  the  bunches  of 
stamens  can  be  seen.  Cut 
off  a  single  scale  and  ex- 
amine it.  There  is  no  better 
way  than  to  impale  it  upon 

a  pin,  thrusting  the  pin  into  the  base  of  the  scale, 
which  can  then  be  turned  any  way  at  pleasure,  and 
the  parts  studied  with  a  pocket-lens.  We  see  that  the 
scale  ends  in  a  shield-like  expansion  of  crimson-purple 
colour.  To  its  edge  are  attached  two  smaller  bracts 
of  the  same  colour,  and  in  the  angles  between  these 
and  the  central  lobe  are  two  more  bracts.  The  up- 


FlG.  IQ. — Scale    of   Alder-catkin, 
with  male  flowers.    Magnified. 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


turned  surface  of  the  scale  is  bare  ;  in  a  ripe  catkin  it  is 
dusted  with  abundance  of  pollen  shed  from  the  flowers 
above  ;  from  the  side  which  hangs  down  the  flowers 
spring.  It  is  plain  that  they  are  well  sheltered  from 
the  rain  by  the  over-arching  scale. 

There  are  three  flowers  to  every  scale.  Each  is 
enclosed  in  a  calyx  of  four  sepals,  and  opposite  each 
sepal  is  a  stamen.  In  the  tmexpanded  catkin  the 
stamen  completely  fills  the  space  within  the  hollow 
sepal,  but  as  the  flowers  ripen  the  stamen  becomes 

free,  each  of  its  two  large 
anther-lobes  bursts,  and  the 
yellow  pollen  is  shed. 

Now  let  us  take  one  of 
the  female  cones  and  ex- 
amine it  closely.  The  scales 
can  be  parted  with  needles, 
and  examined  with  a  lens. 
Each  scale  is  hollowed  out, 
well  rounded  sides,  and 
pointed  tip.  Close  to  its 
base  two  ovaries  can  be  seen, 
each  bearing  two  styles. 
The  ends  of  the  styles  can 
often  be  seen  protruding  be- 
tween the  scales  ;  at  the  tip  of 
each  is  the  stigma  which  has 
to  catch  the  grains  of  pollen. 

Two  styles  indicate  two  carpels,  and  microscopic  ex- 
amination shows  that  there  really  are  two  carpels  to 
each  flower.  The  ovary  is  at  first  two-celled,  and 
contains  two  seeds.  But  only  one  of  these  seeds  will 


FIG.  20. — Two   cones  of  Alder  in 
flower.     Magnified. 


CATKINS 


79 


become  completely  developed  ;  the  other  will  be 
squeezed  out  of  existence  by  its  neighbours,  and  the 
ripe  ovary  will  be  one-celled  and  one-seeded.  Behind 
each  ovary  are  two  minute  bracts,  lying  side  by  side 
against  the  scale.  These  can  only  be  made  out  by 
close  examination  ;  they  become  plainer  during  the 
ripening  of  the  seed. 

On  the  same  trees  which  yield  the  catkins  and 
cones,  last  year's  cones,  black 
and  woody,  and  perhaps  the 
cones  of  the  year  before  last, 
can  be  seen  on  the  ends  of 
some  of  the  branches.  When 
the  cones  come  to  maturity, 
their  scales  part  and  the 
fruits  are  exposed.  By  March 
many  of  last  year's  fruits 
have  been  shaken  out,  but 
plenty  can  still  be  found  on 

the  tree.  Break  a  ripe  cone  across.  You  will  find  the 
central  stalk  extremely  tough.  From  it  radiate  the 
woody  scales,  each  bearing  a  pair  of  angular  fruits 
upon  its  upper  surface. 

We  saw  that  the  Birch-fruits  were  winged  ;  why 
are  not  the  Alder-fruits  winged  too?  Does  this 
invalidate  the  explanation  that  the  wing  is  useful  in 
dispersal  ?  I  think  not ;  it  is  only  a  negative  exception. 
A  wooden  leg  is  used  to  enable  a  man  to  walk  when 
he  has  lost  his  natural  leg.  If  you  saw  a  one-legged 
man  walking  with  a  pair  of  crutches,  and  no  wooden 
leg  at  all,  would  that  shake  your  belief  in  the  motive 
for  wearing  wooden  legs  ?  I  shall  have  something 


FIG.  21. — Two  flowers  from  a 
cone  of  the  Alder,  showing  a 
large  outer  scale,  and  two 
pairs  of  smaller  bracts,  one  pair 
to  each  flower.  Magnified. 


8o 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


more  to  say  about  the  dispersal   of  Alder-seeds  by 
and  by.1 

Birch  catkins  and  cones  are  not  unlike  those  of  the 
Alder.  Each  scale  of  the  male  catkin  has  four  bracts 
and  three  flowers,  as  in  the  Alder  ;  but  each  scale  of 


FIG.  22. — Flowering  branch  of  Birch  {Bctula  alba),  with  catkins  and  one  cone. 

the   female   cone   has   two  bracts   and   three  flowers. 
There  is  no  calyx  in  either  male  or  female  flower. 
In    the    catkins   of  the   Hazel  the  pair  of   bracts 
become  soldered  to  the  scale.     Each  scale  bears  four 
1  See  page  279. 


CATKINS 


81 


FIG.  23.— Scale  of  Hazel- 
catkin,  with  male  flowers. 
Magnified.  See  also  p. 
290. 


stamens,   which    are    deeply    cleft    and    apparently 
double.     The  cone  of  the  Hazel  consists  of  a  number 
of  overlapping  scales,  in  the  midst  of  which  can  be 
discovered    by    careful     search 
several    bracts,    each    of  which 
acts  as  a  sheath  to  two  flowers. 
Every  female   flower  bears  two 
carpels,  which  are  indicated  by 
the  two   crimson  styles,   but  in 
ripening  one  cell  becomes  sup- 
pressed,   and   each    ripe    ovary 
encloses,  as  a  rule,  only  a  single 
seed.      Double-seeded      filberts 
are     not,    however,     very     un- 
common. 

The  flowers  of  Hazel  first  appear,  in  their  unexpanded 
state,  in  autumn  ;  the  catkins  pass  the  winter  without 
external  protection,  but  the  female  flowers  are 
wrapped  up  within  the  enve- 
loping scales.  In  March  the 
styles  lengthen,  pushing  their 
way  through  the  apex  of  the 
cone,  where  their  crimson 
colour  makes  them  very  con- 
spicuous. Only  a  few  of  the 
female  flowers  persist ;  two, 
three  or  four  may  set  their 
seeds  and  produce  nuts.  The 
bracts  grow  steadily  through 
the  summer,  and  form  envelopes  around  the  nuts,  and 
these  envelopes  have  the  form  and  often  the  colour  of 
leaves.  The  same  thing  may  be  observed  in  the 

G 


FIG.  24. — Three  pistillate  flowers 
of  Birch,  with  their  enclosing 
scales.  Magnified. 


82  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Hornbean,  where  the  bracts  seem  adapted  to  aid  in 
the  dispersal  of  the  fruit.  This  cannot  be  the  case 
with  the  heavy  nuts  of  the  Hazel,  yet  the  structure  is 
there,  though  applied  to  some  new  use,  of  which  I  can 
give  no  account  The  cupule  of  the  Acorn  corre- 
sponds to  the  bracts  of  the  Hazel  and  Hornbean. 

I  will  next  describe  the  flowers  of  the  Willow,  the 
"palms"   of    country   people,   so    called,    I    believe, 


FIG.  25. — Young  cone  of  Hazel,  after  flowering.     The  flowers  are  grouped  in  pairs 
and  enclosed  by  bracts,  which  enlarge  after  flowering 


because  they  are  plentiful   in   most  years  on    Palm 
Sunday. 

Alder,  Birch  and  Hazel  bear  both  catkins  and  cones 
on  the  same  branches,  Willow  bears  them  on  different 
trees.  Alder,  Birch  and  Hazel  are  called  monoecious, 
Willow  dioecious.  Both  kinds  are  included  under  the 
term  diclinous.  I  must  rebel  against  these  ugly  words, 
so  ill-chosen  (though  the  great  Linnaeus  is  responsible 
for  the  first  two)  that  even  when  you  know  their 
etymology,  you  can  hardly  understand  or  remember 


CATKINS 


them  any  the  better.  Let  us  try  whether  we  cannot 
for  our  immediate  use  find  something  less  objection- 
able. Unisexual  (of  one  sex)  is  plainer  than  diclinous  ; 


I 


FIG.  26. — i.  Catkins  of  Willow,  entire  and  in  longitudinal  section  ;  2.  Staminate 
flower  of  ditto.     Magnified. 

we  may  perhaps  be  allowed  to  substitute  incompletely 
unisexual  for  monoecious^  and  completely  unisexual  for 
dioecious. 

G   2 


84  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Willow  trees,  as  I  have  said,  are  wholly  male  or 
wholly  female,  completely  unisexual ;  so  are  Poplars. 
Find  a  male  Willow  of  the  Common  Sallow  kind, 
and  watch  its  flowers  open  from  day  to  day.  The 
scales  of  the  bud  part,  and  a  mass 
of  silvery  hairs  shows  itself,  which 
lengthens,  turns  yellow,  and  at 
length  seems  to  be  made  up  of 
stamens  and  pollen.  If  you  break 
such  a  catkin  across,  you  will  find 
it  made  up  of  a  vast  multitude  of 
silky  bracts,  each  of  which  bears 
two  stamens.  There  is  a  minute 
gland  to  each  bract,  which  exudes 
sweet  juice,  and  helps  us  to  under- 
stand why  the  Sallow  is  attractive 
to  Insects. 

The  female  flowers  are  borne 
many  together  on  spikes  (we  can- 
not call  them  cones,  though  they 
answer  to  the  cones  of  Alder, 
Birch  and  Hazel).  Each  flower  is 
ensheathed  by  a  bract,  and  con- 
tains a  seed  vessel  or  ovary 
mounted  on  a  stalk,  and  ending 
above  in  a  forked  style.  The 
FIG.  27.-Cone  of  pistillate  ovary  contains  many  seeds. 

flowers  of  Willow.  J  J 

In  June,  look    out    for  the  ripe 

pods  of  the  female  Willow.  The  halves  of  the  ovary 
separate  at  the  top,  and  gradually  curl  themselves  in 
opposite  directions,  exposing  to  view  a  multitude  of 
silky  seeds.  I  have  found  it  very  amusing  to  pull 


CATKINS 


out  a  tuft  of  Willow  seeds,  and  put  them  in  the  sun. 
They  seem  as  if  they  were  alive,  pushing  one  another 
away,  and  slowly  expanding  into  a  great  fluffy  mass, 
which  is  easily  wafted  to  a  distance  by  a  light  current 
of  air.  The  spreading  out  of  the  pinch  of  hairy  seeds  is 
due  to  the  fact  that  each  seed  bears  a  crown  of  hairs, 


FIG.  28.  —  Pistillate 
flower  of  Willow. 
Magnified. 


FIG. 


fruit 


29. — Ripe 

of   Willow,  bursting. 
Magnified. 


which  lie  close  while  the  seeds  are  in  the  pod,  but 
stand  out  like  rays  or  spokes  as  they  dry.  It  is  easy 
to  see  the  advantage  to  the  Willow  of  getting  its 
seeds  spread  out  into  a  ball  so  light  in  proportion  to  its 
surface  that  any  wind  of  summer  can  blow  it  far  over 
the  fields.  This  is  a  common  contrivance,  but  almost 


86 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


every  fresh  case  has  its  own  peculiar  features.     The 
Poplar,  the  Bullrush  and  the  Willow-herb  (so  named 
from  the  shape  of  the  leaves)  are  curiously  like  the 
Willow  in  the  mode  of  dispersal  of  the 
seeds. 

The  catkin  is  a  form  of  inflorescence 
particularly  well-suited  to  wind-fertili- 
sation. The  pollen-grains  are  formed  in 
vast  numbers  within  the  crowded  flowers 
of  the  long  catkins ;  they  are  easily 
shaken  out  of  these  dangling  tassels, 
wafted  by  the  wind  to  great  distances, 
and  lodged  on  the  branching  styles  of 
the  female  cones.  The  Willow  gets 
help  from  Insects,  especially  Bees,  which 
visit  its  nectar-bearing  flowers  on  bright 
days.  Willows  will  set  their  seeds 
though  there  is  no  male  plant  within  a 
mile. 

Why  do  catkins  appear  so  early,  be- 
fore the  leaves  are  out  ?  It  may  be 
that  the  leaves  would  interfere  with  the 
dispersal  of  the  pollen  by  wind.  They  would  in- 
evitably catch  much  of  the  pollen  wafted  to  or  from 
the  tree,  so  that  there  is  a  distinct  advantage  in 
getting  the  flowers  fertilised  before  the  leaves 
appear. 

The  pollen  of  Willow  does  not  depend  upon 
wafting  by  the  wind,  yet  the  Willow  flowers  before 
it  comes  into  leaf.  Yes,  and  it  secures  two  consider- 
able advantages  thereby.  Its  catkins  are  far  more 
conspicuous  on  bare  boughs  and  the  Bees  are  very 


FIG.    30.  —  Ripe 
cone  of  Birch. 


CATKINS  87 

glad  to  visit  its  honey-bearing  flowers  in  early  spring, 
when  flowers  are  so  few. 

How  can  we  explain  the  different  lengths  of  the 
cones  or  spikes  of  female  flowers?  The  Willow  pro- 
duces very  many  female  flowers,  as  also  does  the 
Birch  ;  Alder  notably  fewer  ;  Hazel  often  about  eight 
only,  of  which  less  than  half  usually  ripen.  The 
difference  becomes  still  more  conspicuous  if  we  com- 
pare the  number  of  the  seeds  produced.  The  Willow 
may  produce  a  million  (I  have  not  counted  them)  on 
a  single  spike  ;  Birch  fewer,  but  still  very  many  ; 
Alder  perhaps  a  tenth  of  the  number  of  the  Birch  ; 
Hazel  only  two,  three  or  four.  The  size  of  the  seeds 
is  naturally  in  an  inverse  proportion  to  the  number, 
and  the  quantity  of  food  stored  up  in  the  seeds  will 
vary  almost  directly  with  the  size.  What  is  the 
meaning  of  these  striking  differences  ?  Willow, 
Poplar  and  Birch  seeds  are 
dispersed  by  the  wind  ;  there- 
fore they  must  be  light,  and 
since  many  will  be  lost,  it  is 
desirable  that  they  should  be 
very  numerous.  I  think  that 
the  seeds  of  Alder  are  dis- 
persed by  running  water,  for 
they  spring  up  along  the  FlG.  3T.__Ripe  cone  of  I]irch 

KanlrQ     r»f     ri\-f>rc     anrl     Krr»r»Vc  broken      across    to      show     the 

riVerS     and     DrOOkS.  winged  fruits.     Magnified. 

Seeds  so  dispersed  need  not 

be  very  light,  and  it  is  probable  that  a  smaller  propor- 
tion is  wasted  than  in  wind-dispersed  seeds.  The 
Hazel-nut  is  eatable,  and  is  carried  off  by  Squirrels 
or  other  animals.  Here  and  there  one  is  dropped,  or 


88  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

buried  and  forgotten,  and  this  is  able  to  germinate. 
A  small  seed  would  tempt  no  animal,  but  a  large  seed 
protected  by  a  hard  shell  is  worth  carrying  off,  and 
yet  has  a  chance  of  germinating  after  all. 

Why  are  the  pods  of  the  Willow  soft  and  green, 
while  the  cones  of  the  Alder  and  Birch  and  the  nuts 
of  the  Hazel  are  woody  ?  Probably  because  the 
minute  seeds  of  the  Willow  ripen  quickly  and  are 
easily  dispersed.  They  require  no  protection  against 
the  rains  and  frost  of  winter,  as  the  slow-maturing 
seeds  of  Alder,  Birch  and  Hazel  do. 

One  question  more.  Why  are  trees  so  often 
completely  unisexual  ?  Where  many  flowers  are 
borne  upon  one  plant,  as  is  commonly  the  case  with 
trees,  they  would  infallibly  fertilise  one  another 
continually,  if  all  were  perfect.  By  the  complete 
separation  of  the  stamens  and  pistils,  self- fertilisation 
becomes  impossible. 

Annual  plants  are  hardly  ever  completely  unisexual. 
The  transport  of  the  pollen  from  one  plant  to  another, 
whether  by  Insects  or  by  the  wind,  is  an  operation 
which  might  conceivably  be  hindered  in  a  particular 
year  by  deficiency  of  a  particular  species  of  Insect,  by 
perfectly  still  weather,  or  by  long-continued  rain. 
Such  accidents,  even  though  they  came  round  but 
once  a  century,  or  once  in  a  thousand  years,  would 
greatly  reduce  the  numbers  of  an  annual  plant,  and 
might  even  exterminate  it.  But  it  would  signify 
little  to  a  tree  that  the  whole  crop  of  seeds  should  fail 
in.  a  particular  year.1 

1  See    Darwin's     Cross-     and    Self -fertilisation    of  Plants, 
Chapter  X. 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE)  89 

There  are  other  questions  about  catkins  which  I  do 
not  propose  to  my  readers  because  I  have  found  them 
so  far  insoluble.  Insoluble  questions  are  plenty  as 
blackberries  ;  the  art  of  the  investigator  of  nature  is 
to  put  questions  which  have  some  chance  of  getting 
answered. 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE). 

A  few  days  ago  (April  2)  I  came  across  a  female 
Oil-beetle  (Meloe)  walking  on  a  bank  in  the  sun,  and 
seeking  for  a  place  in  which  to  deposit  the  multitude 
of  eggs  which  distended  her  enormous  abdomen. 
She  at  last  chose  a  grassy  place  and  began  to  dig. 
When  she  had  made  a  hole  large  enough  to  contain 
her  body,  she  turned  round  and  pushed  her  abdomen 
into  the  hole.  Here  she  remained  quite  still  for  a 
long  time,  her  head  being  just  visible.  I  marked  the 
place,  came  home,  and  spent  an  hour  or  more  in 
reading  Newport's  history  of  the  Oil-beetle.1 

When  I  came  back  the  Meloe  was  gone  and  the 
hole  was  closed  with  earth.  It  was  easy  to  dig  out 
the  cluster  of  eggs,  which  were  very  numerous  (New- 
port says  3,000-4,000  in  the  first  laying),  very  minute, 
of  an  orange-yellow  colour,  adhering  together  and 
lying  all  one  way.  Following  Newport's  example,  I 
placed  the  eggs  in  a  box  filled  with  earth,  and  awaited 
the  appearance  of  the  larvae,  which  emerged  on  May 
8th  (five  weeks).  Newport's  observations  on  a 
captive  Meloe  teach  us  that  the  abdomen  re-fills  with 

1  Linn.   Trans.,   Vol.  XX.  pp.  297-357,  PI.  XIV.  (1851) ;  Vol. 
XXI.  pp.  167-183,  PI.  XX.  (1853). 


90  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

eggs  after  laying,  and  that  four  packets  may  be 
deposited  in  three  weeks.  After  each  deposition  the 
body  shrinks  and  the  Insect  feeds  voraciously. 

When  the  period  of  hatching  is  completed  the  eggs 
burst,  and  countless  larvae,  minute,  six-legged,  and  of 
bright  yellow  colour,  emerge.  They  possess  con- 


FIG.  32. — Female  Oil-beetle  (Meloe  proscarabeu s).     Natural  size. 

spicuous  black  eyes,  pointed  mandibles,  and  legs 
furnished  at  the  extremity  with  a  claw  and  two 
lateral  hooks,  so  that  they  appear  three-parted.  The 
whole  larva  is  about  TV  in.  long.  After  a  time  it  runs 
and  creeps  with  great  agility  by  means  of  its  hooked 
legs.  It  can  also  crawl  upon  a  smooth,  vertical  sur- 
face, such  as  an  upright  sheet  of  glass,  by  attaching 
alternately  the  front  legs  and  a  pair  of  false  feet, 
which  project  from  the  last  segment,  and  resemble 
the  claspers  of  a  caterpillar.  The  body  is  moved 
either  forwards  or  backwards  in  a  looping  fashion. 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE) 


It  is  easy  enough  to  go  so  far,  and  to  obtain  small 
active  larvae  from  the  eggs  of  Meloe.  We  should  at 
first  be  inclined  to  suspect  that  these  larvae  would 
seek  their  food  in  the  ground,  grow  big,  pupate,  and 
change  to  perfect  Beetles.  But  this  does  not  happen. 
If  the  larvae  are  imprisoned,  even  though  they  may 
be  supplied  with  food  of  any  imaginable  description, 
they  soon  perish.  If  they  are  kept  warm  and 
exposed  to  light,  they  run  about  busily,  seeking  to 
escape  ;  if  they  are  kept  in  the 
dark,  they  remain  still.  In 
either  case,  they  perish  in  two 
or  three  weeks. 

It  had  been  noticed  before 
Newport's  time  that  such 
larvae  were  occasionally  to  be 
found  clustered  on  grass,  or  on 
the  flowers  of  Buttercup  and 
Dandelion.  The  same  or  very 
similar  larvae  had  been  found 
clinging  to  the  hairs  of  various 
Bees  and  Flies,  and  Latreille 
had  thought  it  probable  that 
they  attached  themselves  to 
flower-visiting  Bees,  and  were 
conveyed  to  the  nest,  which  at 
this  time  of  the  year  is  being 
stored  with  pollen  and  honey. 

Newport  placed  a  burrowing  Bee  in  a  bottle  which  con- 
tained a  brood  of  these  larvae.  They  instantly  seized 
any  part  of  the  Bee  which  came  within  reach,  leg,  wing, 
or  hairs,  and  mounted  in  crowds  upon  the  body,  causing 


FIG.  33. — First  larva  of  Oil- 
beetle,  magnified.  After 
Newport 


92  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

the  greatest  uneasiness  to  the  Bee,  which  struggled 
in  vain  to  detach  them.  Newport  remarks  that  all  the 
Hymenoptera  on  which  Meloe  larvae  have  been  found 
burrow  in  the  ground,  and  all  the  Flies  on  which  they 
have  been  taken  are,  like  Volucella,  parasitic  in  the 
nests  of  such  Hymenoptera.  The  statement  is  too 
sweeping,  for  Meloe  larvae  have  been  known  to  attach 
themselves  in  mistake  or  despair  to  other  flying 
Insects,  as  will  appear  later.  Newport  himself  gives 
us  one  instance.  Having  secured  three  or  four  hun- 
dred Meloe  larvae  in  a  bottle,  he  put  with  them  several 
living  Weevils  and  a  single  Malachius  (a  small  flower- 
haunting  Beetle).  The  Weevils  were  not  disturbed, 
but  the  larvae  instantly  attached  themselves  to  the 
Malachius  in  such  numbers  as  to  cover  it  and  deprive 
it  of  the  power  of  moving  ;  most  of  them  clung  on  for 
many  hours. 

Newport  found  pupae  and  advanced  larvae  of  one 
species  of  Meloe  among  the  nests  of  a  particular 
burrowing  Bee  (Anthophora),  and  now  the  case 
seemed  to  be  pretty  complete.  It  remained  to  see  the 
young  larva  brought  to  the  nest,  and  to  watch  its 
operations  on  arrival.  He  took  with  him  in  June 
fresh-hatched  larvae  of  Meloe  proscarabceus  (the 
commonest  species)  and  M.  violaceus,  and  placed 
them  in  the  nests  of  Anthophora  retusa,  each  cell  of 
which  then  contained  a  Bee-maggot  and  a  supply  of 
pollen-paste,  its  proper  food.  At  first  he  thought 
that  the  experiment  was  succeeding,  for  one  of  the 
larvae  seemed  to  attack  the  Bee-maggot  with  its 
mandibles.  But  nothing  further  happened.  He  left 
the  intruders  in  the  nest  and  went  away.  Next  day 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE)  93 

the  Bee-larvae  with  their  stores  of  food  were  still  there, 
but  the  Meloe-larvae  had  gone. 

Thus  baffledv  Newport  called  to  mind  that  it  was 
Meloe  cicatricosus  which  he  had  found  in  Anthophora 
nests,  and  that  he  had  experimented  with  the  larvae  of 
two  other  species.  He  was,  it  appears,  unable  to 
repeat  the  experiment  with  the  larvae  of  cicatricosus, 
or  to  discover  the  true  hosts  of  violaceus  and 
proscarabceus.  But  he  knew  perfectly  well  the  next 
stage  of  Meloe  cicatricosus.  This  he  had  found  in  the 
closed  cells  of  Anthophora  in  con- 
siderable numbers.  It  is  a  curved, 
cylindrical,  thick,  almost  footless 
grub,  motionless  and  of  pale  orange 
colour.  The  head  is  small,  and  the 
hinder  end  of  the  body  encumbered 
with  the  cast  skin  of  the  active 
larva.  He  supposed  that  the  active 
larvae  devours  the  egg  of  its  host, 
changes  its  skin,  and  then  feeds  FIG.  34.— Second  larva 

,  ,  T  A  i  of  Oil-beetle    (Meloe 

upon    the    honey.     In    August,    by        cicatricosus)  magni- 

\.    ,          .  .       ,        ,  ,,        .  j         -    fied.     After  Fabre. 

which  time  it  had  greatly  increased 
in  size  (Newport  found  advanced  larvae  f  in.  long),  it 
changes  to  a  pupa,  and  the  perfect  Beetle  soon 
emerges.  This  hibernates  in  the  same  cell,  and  only 
emerges  in  the  following  spring.  The  newly  emerged 
Beetles  are  small  and  shrunken.  But  they  feed 
greedily  upon  the  leaves  and  flowers  of  the  Buttercup 
or  some  few  other  spring  flowers,  and  become  plump. 
The  Beetles  are  fond  of  sunshine.  They  drink  water 
plentifully,  and  in  captivity  require  their  food  to  be 
frequently  wetted.  The  females  are  much  larger  than 


94  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

the  males.  Newport  tells  us  that  the  males  are 
exceedingly  pugnacious,  and  often  fight,  depriving 
each  other  of  one  of  the  antennae.  The  unwieldy 
form  of  the  female,  the  inky  purple  colour,  and  the 
sluggish  gait  have  something  unpleasant  about  them, 
and  few  would  care  to  handle  the  insect.  Those  who 
do  so  find  that  it  sweats  from  every  joint  drops  of 
yellow  fluid,  probably  acrid.  As  if  aware  of  its  ill- 


FIG.   35.—  Pseudo-chrysalis  (inactive  larva)  and  pupa  of  Oil-beetle  (Meloe).     After 
Newport. 

taste,  the  Beetle  creeps  leisurely  about  in  full  sun- 
light, as  fearless  and  as  conspicuous  as  a  Skunk. 
What  a  variety  of  experiences  it  has  gone  through  ! 
It  has  lived  three  lives,  each  requiring  its  own 
instincts  and  a  distinct  bodily  structure,  when  its  last 
packet  of  eggs  is  laid  and  the  curious  history  of  greed 
and  cunning  comes  to  an  end. 

Such  is  the  account  which  Newport  was  able  to 
give.     We  shall  see  that  it  does  not  by  any  means 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE)  95 

exhaust  this  complicated  life-history.  The  fresh 
information  we  owe  to  Fabre.1  I  am  glad  of  the 
opportunity  to  introduce  his  graphic  sketches  to  some 
English  readers  who  may  not  have  met  with  them 
before.  The  translation  is  somewhat  condensed. 

Meloe  cicatricosus,  he  remarks,  infests  the  nests  of 
two  other  Anthophorae  besides  the  A.  retusa  spoken 
of  by  Newport,  but  though  our  author  had  found  the 
larvae  in  the  cells  of  its  hosts,  he  had  never  seen  the 
female  wandering  in  search  of  a  place  to  lay  her  eggs. 
The  history  of  his  investigations  dates  from  May 
23rd,  1858,  and  the  scene  was  a  steep  slope  bordering 
the  road  from  Carpentras  to  Bedoin.  The  slope, 
baked  in  the  sun,  was  the  abode  of  swarms  of 
burrowing  Bees  (Anthophora).  A  scanty  turf  ex- 
tended from  the  edge  of  the  road  to  the  foot  of  the 
slope.  To  observe  the  Bees  more  closely,  Fabre  lay 
upon  the  grass,  when  his  clothes  became  covered  with 
what  looked  like  little  yellow  fleas,  rushing  about 
with  desperate  haste.  These  Insects,  which  gave  him 
the  appearance  of  being  dusted  with  ochre,  were  soon 
recognised  as  the  active  larvae  of  Meloe. 

On  the  patch  of  grass  were  some  few  flowers,  and 
among  these  a  Groundsel  and  a  Chamomile.  Observ- 
ing these  closely,  Fabre  saw  that  almost  all  the 
flowers  were  occupied  by  the  larvae.  They  might  be 
found  crouching  motionless  among  the  florets  of  a 
single  head.  None  were  to  be  seen  on  a  Poppy  or  a 
Crucifer  which  grew  by  the  side  of  the  Composites. 

"  Besides  the  hordes  encamped  on  the  heads  of  the 
Composites,"  continues  Fabre,  "  which  were  motion- 
1  Nouveaux  Souvenirs  Kntomologiques,  XVI.  (1882). 


96  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

less,  as  if  they  had  accomplished  their  immediate 
purpose,  I  could  see  a  still  more  numerous  crowd 
whose  restless  movements  showed  that  they  were  still 
unsatisfied.  On  the  ground  among  the  grass  ran 
about  in  disorder  innumerable  little  larvae,  resembling 
the  swarms  which  issue  from  an  overturned  ant-hill. 
Some  mounted  in  haste  a  blade  of  grass,  and  came 
down  again  with  equal  speed  ;  others  clung  to  the 
cottony  surface  of  dry  Cudweed,  but  after  resting 
there  a  moment,  quitted  it  and  resumed  their  quest. 
In  a  space  some  ten  metres  square,  there  was  hardly 
a  blade  of  grass  which  had  not  been  explored  by  the 
larvae. 

"  I  had  plainly  before  me  a  swarm  just  hatched  from 
a  mass  of  eggs  laid  in  the  earth.  Some  of  the  larvae 
were  already  settled  among  the  florets  of  Chamomile 
and  Groundsel,  waiting  the  arrival  of  Bees,  but  most 
of  them  had  still  to  discover  a  suitable  station.  The 
whole  multitude,  which  must  have  amounted  to  many 
thousands,  could  hardly  be  the  offspring  of  one  female, 
in  spite  of  all  that  Newport  says  of  the  astonishing 
fertility  of  this  Insect. 

"  The  strip  of  turf  stretched  a  long  way  by  the  side 
of  the  road,  but  no  Meloe  larvae  could  be  seen  except 
within  a  few  square  metres  adjacent  to  the  burrows  of 
the  Bees.  The  larvae  could  not  have  travelled  far  ; 
there  were  no  laggards,  such  as  inevitably  follow  a 
marching  column.  It  would  appear  that  the  Meloe, 
not  laying  her  eggs  at  hazard,  or  leaving  the  young 
to  make  their  own  way  to  the  burrows  which  they  were 
destined  to  inhabit,  chooses  a  place  haunted  by 
Anthophora,  and  lays  her  eggs  there. 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE)  97 

"  So  great  was  the  multitude  of  Meloe  larvae  that 
sooner  or  later  almost  all  the  Bees  of  the  neighbour- 
hood must  have  become  infested  with  them.  Though 
comparatively  few  larvae  had  yet  gained  the  flower- 
heads,  and  though  the  Anthophora  seldom  alights 
on  the  ground,  where  the  Meloe  larvae  were  most 
plentiful,  almost  all  the  Bees  which  I  caught  and 
examined  had  several  larvae  entangled  in  the  hairs  of 
the  thorax. 

"  I  have  also  found  Meloe  larvae  on  Melectes  and 
Ccelioxys,  two  Hymenoptera  which  are  parasitic  upon 
Anthophora.  Quitting  for  a  moment  their  bold 
dartings  to  and  fro  in  front  of  the  galleries  of  the  Bee, 
still  in  process  of  construction,  these  thieves  of  honey 
stored  up  for  others  settle  for  an  instant  upon  a  flower 
of  Chamomile,  and  then  it  is  the  robber  who  is  robbed. 
A  tiny  larva  creeps  upon  their  downy  covering. 
When  the  parasite,  having  destroyed  the  egg  of  the 
Anthophora,  comes  to  lay  its  own  egg  on  the  honey, 
the  Meloe  larva  lets  itself  down,  destroys  the  second 
egg,  and  remains  sole  proprietor  of  the  food  within 
the  cell.  The  store  of  honey  laid  up  by  the  Antho- 
phora will  thus  belong  to  three  owners  in  turn,  and 
will  remain  with  the  weakest  of  the  three. 

"  But  who  can  say  that  the  Meloe  may  not  itself 
be  dispossessed  by  some  new  thief,  or  even,  while 
still  a  soft,  fat  and  sluggish  larva,  fall  a  prey  to  some 
destroyer,  who  will  devour  its  living  entrails?  As  we 
ponder  over  the  deadly  and  remorseless  strife  which 
nature  prescribes  to  these  various  creatures,  by  turns 
wealthy  and  destitute,  devourers  and  devoured,  a 
feeling  of  horror  mingles  with  the  admiration  excited 

H 


98  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

by  their  artifices.  We  forget  that  these  things  pass 
in  a  lower  sphere  of  existence,  and  shudder  at  the 
train  of  thefts,  deceptions  and  robberies  which  enter 
into  the  plan  of  our  alma  paren s  rcrum. 

"  The  young  Meloe  larvae,  once  settled  on  the  hairs 
of  Anthophora  or  its  nest-parasites,  are  in  a  sure  way 
to  reach  sooner  or  later  the  cell  which  is  their  goal. 
Are  they  guided  by  intelligence,  or  do  they  attach 
themselves  by  chance  to  anything  that  offers  ?  It  was 
not  difficult  to  clear  up  the  point.  Drone-flies  and 
Blow-flies  dashed  now  and  then  cgainst  the  flowers  of 
the  Groundsel  and  Chamomile  in  which  the  Meloe 
larvae  were  lurking,  and  paused  for  a  moment  to  suck 
the  sweet  juices.  On  all,  or  very  nearly  all  these 
Flies,  I  found  Meloe  larvae,  clinging  to  the  thoracic 
hairs.  An  Ammophila  (Sand-wasp)  which  provisions 
its  burrows  in  early  spring  with  a  caterpillar,  just 
grazed  the  surface  of  a  flower.  I  caught  it,  and  found 
Meloe  larva?  running  over  its  body.  Neither  the 
Eristalis  and  Blow-fly,  whose  larvae  feed  on  putrid 
flesh,  nor  the  Sand-wasp  which  feeds  its  young  with 
caterpillars,  could  ever  transport  the  Meloe  larvae  to 
the  cells  filled  with  honey  which  they  desire.  These 
larva?  had  gone  astray,  and  it  is  clear  that  their 
instinct  is  not  infallible. 

"  Let  us  study  more  carefully  the  Meloe  larvae  as 
they  wait  in  expectation  on  the  Chamomile  flowers. 
There  they  are,  ten,  twelve  or  more  together,  half 
concealed  within  or  between  the  florets.  They  are 
not  easily  seen,  as  the  amber-yellow  of  their  bodies 
matches  the  colour  of  the  central  florets.  So  long  as 
the  flower  is  undisturbed,  they  remain  motionless, 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE)  99 

head  downwards.  One  might  suppose  that  they  were 
sucking  nectar,  but  if  that  were  their  aim,  they  would 
move  about  from  one  floret  to  another,  which  does 
not  happen,  except  when  they  seek  the  most  advan- 
tageous position  after  a  false  alarm.  The  florets  are 
a  mere  lurking-place,  and  they  will  eat  nothing  until 
their  jaws  crush  the  egg  of  an  Anthophora. 

"  Let  us  gently  explore  a  Chamomile  flower  with  a 
straw.  The  larvae  quit  their  retreats,  and  run  out  along 
the  white  ray-flowers.  When  they  gain  the  extreme 
tip,  they  attach  themselves  by  the  appendages  of  the 
tail,  or  perhaps  by  means  of  a  viscid  secretion,  such 
as  the  Sitaris  larvae  possess.  With  the  body  extended 
in  free  air  and  the  legs  free,  they  sway  about  in  all 
directions,  as  if  bent  upon  reaching  some  object  out 
of  easy  reach.  If  nothing  approaches  which  they 
can  grasp,  they  by  and  by  return  to  the  centre  of  the 
flower,  and  become  motionless  once  more. 

"If  we  bring  any  object  within  their  reach,  they 
attach  themselves  with  extraordinary  quickness.  A 
blade  of  grass,  a  straw,  the  arm  of  a  forceps — 
anything  will  do,  so  eager  are  they  to  quit  their 
retreat.  But  they  soon  find  out  when  they  have  made 
a  mistake,  and  run  up  and  down,  trying  to  get  back 
to  the  flower,  if  it  is  still  possible.  After  having  once 
grasped  a  straw,  they  will  not,  if  replaced  on  the 
flower,  be  entrapped  a  second  time  so  easily. 

"  I  tried  little  bits  of  cloth  or  velvet,  torn  off  my 
clothes,  as  resembling  more  or  less  the  hairy  covering 
of  a  Hymenopterous  Insect,  plugs  of  cotton-wool, 
and  flocky  pellets  stripped  off  the  Cudweed.  Any  of 
these  the  larvae  clutched  at,  but  instead  of  remaining 

H   2 


IOG  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

close  and  still,  as  they  do  on  the  Insect,  they  perceived 
that  they  were  out  of  the  right  track,  and  tried  to 
escape.  This  might  have  been  predicted,  for  I  had 
seen  them  running  restlessly  to  and  fro  on  the  woolly 
Cudweed.  If  a  mere  hairy  surface  would  satisfy 
them,  almost  all  the  larvae  which  fell  in  with  these 
plants  would  perish  there  without  an  effort. 

"  I  next  tried  bringing  a  live  Anthophora  to  the 
flower.  The  Bee,  cleared  of  any  parasites  which  it 
happened  to  bear,  was  held  by  the  wings,  and  made 
to  touch  the  flower  for  a  moment,  when  it  was  in- 
variably found  to  bear  Meloe  larvae,  which  clung  to  its 
hairs.  The  larvae  climb  instantly  upon  the  thorax, 
and  there  they  remain  motionless  ;  the  second  stage 
of  their  migration  is  now  accomplished. 

"In  the  same  way  I  tried  all  the  live  Insects  which 
I  could  immediately  procure — Drone-fly,  Blow-fly, 
Honey-bee  and  small  Butterflies.  All  were  instantly 
overrun  by  the  Meloe  larvae.  What  is  more,  no 
subsequent  attempts  were  made  to  regain  the  flower. 
There  were  no  Beetles  at  hand,  so  I  did  not  make 
trial  of  them.  Newport,  working  under  different 
conditions,  for  his  larvae  were  imprisoned  in  a  bottle, 
while  mine  were  under  natural  conditions,  saw  them 
climb  upon  a  Malachius  Beetle,  and  remain  there  at 
rest,  from  which  I  conclude  that  I  should  have  got  the 
same  result  with  Beetles  as  with  Flies  (Eristalis,  for 
instance).  I  have  since  found  a  large  Beetle,  the  Rose 
Beetle,  which  continually  haunts  flowers,  beset  witfr 
Meloe  larvae.  When  all  the  Insects  I  could  procure 
had  been  tried,  I  offered  them  a  large  black  Spider. 
They  climbed  upon  it  without  hesitation,  reached  the 


THE  OIL-BEETLE  (MELOE)  101 

articulation  of  the  legs,  and  remained  there  motionless. 
Anything,  it  appears,  suffices  to  tempt  them  from 
their  temporary  retreat ;  they  attach  themselves  to 
the  first  living  thing  which  comes  in  their  way.  Hence 
the  necessity  of  a  vast  number  of  eggs  ;  the  great 
majority  of  the  larvae  go  astray,  and  never  gain  the 
cells  of  the  Anthophora.  Fertility  supplies  the  defects 
of  instinct. 

"  How  does  the  Meloe  larva  quit  the  Bee,  which 
has  guided  it  to  the  cell  ?  With  larvae  found  upon 
various  Hymenoptera  I  made  some  trials,  such  as 
Newport  had  previously  made.  Meloe  larvae  when 
brought  near  to  the  larvae  and  pupae  of  Anthophora, 
paid  no  attention  to  them  ;  others  placed  close  to 
cells  filled  with  honey,  did  not  enter  them  and  at 
most  touched  the  edge  ;  while  such  as  were  placed 
inside  the  cells,  came  out  immediately  or  perished  by 
suffocation. 

"Dug- out  nests  of  Anthophora  had  previously  in- 
formed me  that  Meloe  cicatricosus  is  parasitic  upon 
this  Bee,  in  whose  cells  I  had  found  the  adult  Meloe, 
dead  and  dry.  The  yellow  larvae,  found  alive  upon 
Anthophora,  had  been  recognised  by  Newport  as  the 
larvae  of  Meloe.  Bearing  in  mirid  these  facts,  which 
impressed  me  the  more  as  I  had  recently  been  investi- 
gating the  similar  history  of  Sitaris,  I  betook-  myself 
on  May  2ist  of  the  following  year  to  Carpentras,  and 
visited  the  nests  which  the  Anthophora  was  now 
engaged  in  constructing.  I  felt  pretty  sure  of  finding 
out  sooner  or  later  the  life-history  of  Sitaris,  which 
was  very  plentiful,  but  was  less  hopeful  about  the 
Meloe,  which,  though  it  occurs  in  the  same  nests, 


102  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

is  very  rare.  After  six  hours  of  digging  i  secured 
many  cells  enclosing  Sitaris,  and  two  with  Meloe. 
On  the  dark  and  liquid  honey  was  a  wrinkled  mem- 
brane, and  upon  this  a  yellow  larva.  The  membrane 
was  the  empty  envelope  of  an  Anthophora  egg ;  the 
larva  was  the  larva  of  Meloe. 

"  The  Meloe  larva  quits  the  hairs  of  the  Bee  just 
when  she  lays  her  egg.  Since  contact  with  honey 
would  be  fatal,  the  tactics  of  the  Sitaris  are  pursued, 
and  the  larva  drops  upon  the  egg  as  it  is  laid.  The 
next  step  is  to  devour  the  contents  of  the  floating 
egg,  and  after  this  meal,  the  only  one  which  it  takes 
in  its  active  stage,  it  undergoes  a  kind  of  transforma- 
tion, feeding  hereafter  upon  the  honey  stored  up  by 
the  Anthophora.  Hence  the  obstacle  which  rendered 
fruitless  my  own  previous  attempts  as  well  as  those  of 
Newport.  It  is  useless  to  offer  to  Meloe  larvae  honey, 
larvae  of  Anthophora,  or  pupae  ;  they  must  attain  the 
freshly  deposited  egg." 

Fabre  has  described  in  detail  the  subsequent  trans- 
formations of  the  Sitaris  larva,  of  which  the  English 
reader  will  find  an  interesting  account  with  illustra- 
tive figures,  in  Lubbock's  Origin  and  Metamorphoses 
of  Insects  (Chap.  II.).  The  history  of  Meloe  is  very 
similar.  The  active  larva  changes  to  a  soft  grub, 
which  feeds  exclusively  on  honey.  A  third  larval 
form,  not  unlike  a  Lamellicorn  larva,  succeeds.  About 
Midsummer  this  is  transformed  into  what  Fabre  calls 
the  pseudo-chrysalis.  The  Meloe  in  this  stage,  still 
encumbered  by  the  cast  skin  of  the  third  larva,  had 
been  observed  by  Newport,  who  remarks  that  the 
stout  mandibles  and  hooked  feet  of  the  third  larva 


THE  CORN-RIGS  OF  BEAMSLEY  FELL          103 

seem  suited  for  digging,  perhaps  for  making  a  passage 
to  a  fresh  cell,  whose  honey  is  unexhausted. 

The  pseudo-chrysalis  is  sluggish,  with  a  yellow, 
horny  skin,  and  from  it  the  true  pupa  at  length  issues. 
The  only  perfect  Beetle  which  Fabre  reared  came  out 
in  September,  but  the  Insect  does  not  show  itself  nor 
seek  its  mate  till  the  following  spring. 


THE  CORN-RIGS  OF  BEAMSLEY  FELL. 

April  15,  1895. — I  look  out  from  my  study-windows 
across  Wharfedale,  and  see  faint  but  unmistakable 
tokens  of  the  advance  of  spring.  The  level  meadows 
in  the  floor  of  the  valley  are  green,  and  not  grey  as 
they  were  a  month  ago.  The  woods,  which  all  winter 
through  were  of  uniform  black,  are  now  resolved  into 
masses  of  feathery  trees,  softly  pencilled  with  brown 
and  green.  A  grove  of  poplars  in  Denton  Park  is 
distinguished  by  the  colour  and  the  branching  at  a 
distance  of  a  full  mile. 

When  we  come  to  close  quarters  we  see  the  green 
buds  of  the  Sycamore,  the  brown  buds  of  the  Poplar 
and  the  russet  flowers  of  the  Elm.  The  trees  which 
slept  are  waking. 

It  is  near  sun-down,  and  the  sun  shines  straight 
down  this  reach  of  the  valley,  bringing  out  with  his 
horizontal  rays  the  faintest  surface-markings.  On  the 
opposite  hill-side  the  drainage  furrows  are  ruled  in 
close  and  regular  lines  across  the  meadows  and 
pastures.  I  can  also  distinguish  much  slighter 
furrows  here  and  there,  which  are  corn-rigs,  the 


io4  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

furrows. of  ploughed  land.  These  last  are  so  ill-defined 
that  I  should  not  have  recognised  them,  if  I  had  not 
lately  walked  past  those  very  fields.  Falling  into  talk 
with  a  farm-labourer,  he  pointed  out  which  pastures 
had  been  reaped  within  his  own  memory.  Higher  up 
the  valley  are  terraces,  once  cultivated  by  the  spade, 
and  there  are  many  signs  that  corn  and  vegetables 
formerly  flourished  where  now  all  is  grass.  Such 
traces  of  ancient  tillage  are  not  peculiar  to  Wharfe- 
dale  or  to  Yorkshire.  They  are  common  in  all  parts  of 
England.  Canon  Raine  points  out  that  in  parts  of 
Tynedale  which  have  never  been  tilled  within  living 
memory  the  Black  Book  of  Hexham  Priory  shows  that 
corn  was  once  raised.  "  If  this  evidence  were  wanting, 
the  lay-riggs,  as  they  are  called,  which  the  rich  sward 
of  untold  years  has  been  unable  to  obliterate,  still 
show  decisively  that  in  days  long  gone  by  the  plough- 
man and  the  sower  have  been  there." l  Marshall  in 
1804  found  that  over  all  the  country  from  the  Tamar 
to  the  eastern  border  of  Dorsetshire,  open  commons 
which  had  never  been  ploughed  within  the  memory 
of  man  were  marked  with  ridge  and  furrow.2 

Corn -rigs  on  grass  land  do  not  necessarily  prove  a 
diminution  in  the  acreage  of  tilled  land.  In  our  day 
the  few  ploughed  fields  of  this  part  of  Wharfedale 
belong  to  the  lower  and  richer  lands.  But  when 
drainage  was  rare  and  insufficient,  these  low-lying 
fields  were  considered  too  wet  and  too  liable  to  inun- 

1  ffisiory  of  Hexham    Priory,  Vol.    II.    Preface,    p.*   xviii. 
(Surtees  Soc.). 

2  Quoted   by   Prothero,   Pioneers  and  Progress  of  English 
Fanning. 


THE  CORN-RIGS  OF  BEAMSLEY  FELL         105 

dation,  and  the  uplands  were  preferred  for  raising  corn, 
I  have  noticed  in  old  maps  of  Yorkshire  towns  that 
flat  meadows  near  rivers  were  often  occupied  by 
tenter-hooks  for  stretching  cloth  upon.  Probably 
they  were  too  wet  for  crops.  But  the  higher  ground, 
up  to  600  ft.  or  more  above  sea-level,  often  bore  crops. 
Wheat  would  not  thrive  at  the  greater  elevations,  but 
oats  and  especially  rye  would  do  well  enough.  Rye 
can  be  harvested  late,  in  cold  and  wet  weather,  and 
this  was  no  doubt  the  chief  reason  why  it  was  so 
largely  grown  in  the  north  of  England  down  to  the 
early  part  of  the  eighteenth  century. 

There  are  few  published  records  which  give  in- 
formation respecting  the  history  of  agriculture  in 
Wharfedale.  Craven  was  long  a  wild  and  backward 
district.  In  Edward  III.'s  time1  the  labourers  of 
Craven  with  the  inhabitants  of  other  desolate  regions, 
were  made  exempt  from  the  prohibition  to  wander  in 
search  of  work  in  summer  time.  In  Henry  VII.'s 
reign  there  was  a  notable  increase  of  population  in 
Yorkshire,  as  the  many  parish  churches  of  that  age 
testify,  and  this  increase  would  encourage  the  tillage 
of  lands  previously  waste.  This  was  also  a  time  when 
much  arable  land  was  laid  down  in  grass,  as  we  learn 
from  the  statute-book  and  from  the  complaints  of 
Hugh  Latimer  and  Sir  Thomas  More.  Whether  the 
acreage  of  tilled  land  positively  declined  in  the  six- 
teenth century  it  would  be  hard  to  say.  But  there  is 
no  doubt  that  during  the  next  three  hundred  years 
there  was  a  vast  increase  in  the  ploughed  land  of  all 
parts  of  England,  an  increase  which  went  on  steadily 
1  25  Edward  III.  Stat.  2,  Cap.  2, 


io6  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

until  the  middle  of  the  nineteenth  century.  During 
the  last  fifty  years,  however,  there  has  been  a  marked 
concentration  of  population  in  Yorkshire.  Out- 
side the  great  towns  there  has  been  a  considerable 
aggregate  increase,  due  to  the  growth  of  manufactur- 
ing villages,  health  resorts,  and  suburban  houses,  all 
dependent  upon  manufactures.  But  the  proper  rural 
population  has  declined.  Unroofed  cottages  are 
common  in  Wharfedale,  and  a  far  larger  number 
have  been  swept  away  altogether.  There  was  a  time 
when  princes  and  parliaments  would  have  interposed  to 
check  the  evil  by  such  blundering  enactments  as  they 
could  devise.  We  have  learnt  by  experience  that 
mankind  cannot  be  effectually  driven  to  adopt  an 
occupation  and  a  place  of  abode  which  accord  with 
the  views,  not  of  themselves  but  of  their  rulers. 

The  importation  of  cheap  corn  has  materially  re- 
duced the  area  of  ploughed  land  within  recent  years. 
In  every  part  of  England  are  great  expanses  of  pas- 
ture and  meadow  which  waved  with  corn  within  the 
memory  of  men  still  living.  The  day  is  at  hand  when 
the  vast  majority  of  Englishmen  will  dwell  in  cities. 
A  hundred  years  ago  the  vast  majority  were  rustics. 

Was  it  better  to  live  in  England  then  than  now  ? 
Better  in  some  ways,  no  doubt.  Men  worked,  if  they 
did  not  sleep,  in  pure  air,  and  in  sight  of  the  trees  and 
the  blue  sky.  The  simple  out-of-door  pastimes  of 
Shakespeare's  day  were  better  than  the  music-hall 
and  the  street-organ.  There  were  then  no  wilder- 
nesses of  streets  to  cut  the  children  off  from  the  very 
possibility  of  knowing  the  face  of  Nature. 

Some  things  have  remained  much  the  same  through 


THE  CORN-RIGS  OF  BEAMSLEY  FELL         107 

centuries  of  change.  Curiously  enough,  among  the 
things  which  abide  with  us  is  political  and  social  rest- 
lessness. Almost  every  age  has  dimly  felt  that  it  was 
on  the  eve  of  startling  changes.  Such  changes  have 
come  and  passed,  and  left  the  old  fabric  standing. 
Wat  Tyler  and  John  Ball  in  the  fourteenth  century 
were  followed  by  Jack  Cade  in  the  fifteenth,  by  the 
pilgrimage  of  Grace  and  Robert  Kett  in  the  sixteenth, 
by  the  Levellers  and  Clubmen  in  the  seventeenth, 
and  by  the  Luddites  and  Chartists  in  the  nineteenth. 
The  hopeful  and  the  ignorant  and  the  clamorous  are 
always  full  of  "  a  good  time  coming,"  which  will  never 
come,  it  is  to  be  feared,  until  men  learn  self-denial. 

Some  things  have  changed  for  the  better  during 
three  centuries.  Among  these  are  food,  lodging, 
clothing,  education  and  medical  treatment.  People 
feed  much  better  and  live  much  longer  than  they  did. 
If  they  are  not  a  good  deal  wiser,  it  is  their  own 
fault 

Take  one  thing  with  another,  I  would  rather  live  in 
Yorkshire  in  1895  than  in  1495,  1595,  or  1695.  Be- 
tween 1795  and  1895  it  would  be  harder  to  choose. 
The  changes  of  the  last  hundred  years  are  very  con- 
spicuous, but  they  are  very  hard  to  equate. 


THE  CUCKOO. 

April  19. — This  morning  I  heard  for  the  first  time 
this  year  the  "  two-fold  shout  "  of  the  Cuckoo.  One 
male  Bird  is  certainly  here.  I  see  him  fly  to  and  fro 
across  the  fields,  as  if  seeking  a  mate. 


loS  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

April  22. — We  have  now  several  Cuckoos  in  our 
valley,  the  males  as  yet  greatly  predominating.  The 
males  are  more  fixed  in  their  abode  than  the 
females,  which  rove  a  good  deal  and  pick  up  several 
mates. 

May  20. — A  Cuckoo's  egg  found  in  a  Wagtail's 
nest.  The  small  Birds  are  certainly  afraid  of  the 
Cuckoo,  who  pursues  them  as  if  to  see  where  they  are 
going  to  lay.  The  Hawk-like  appearance  no  doubt 
adds  to  the  terror  which  the  Cuckoo  inspires. 

We  have  few  memoirs  on  the  habits  of  Birds  more 
interesting  than  Dr.  Jenner's  Observations  on  the 
Natural  History  of  the  Cuckoo,  published  in  the 
Philosophical  Transactions  for  1788. 

Jenner,  the  discoverer  of  vaccination,  was  a  man  of 
varied  tastes  and  acquirements.  He  was  accomplished 
in  music  and  studied  Natural  History  with  diligence 
and  success.  In  this  subject  he  had  the  advantage  of 
instruction  by  a  first-rate  master,  John  Hunter,  in 
whose  house  he  lived  for  two  years,  and  to  whom  he 
addressed,  for  communication  to  the  Royal  Society, 
his  memoirs  on  the  Cuckoo.  In  1788  Jenner  was 
thirty-nine  years  old,  and  practising  medicine  at 
Berkeley.  During  the  same  year  he  came  up  to 
London,  in  order  to  make  known  his  views  as  to  the 
relation  between  cow-pox  and  small-pox,  which  were 
coldly  received  by  the  great  physicians.  His  first 
case  of  successful  vaccination  was  still  some  years  in 
the  future  (1796). 

At  one  time  it  had  seemed  likely  that  Jenner  might 
become  a  professed  naturalist.  He  had  been  em- 
ployed, probably  on  Hunter's  recommendation,  to 


THE  CUCKOO  109 

/ 

arrange  the  zoological  collections  brought  back  by  Sir 
Joseph  Banks  from  Captain  Cook's  first  voyage  of 
discovery,  and  the  post  of  naturalist  on  the  second 
voyage  had  been  offered  to  him.  But  love  of  his 
Gloucestershire  home  and  the  prospect  of  distinction 
in  medicine  decided  Jenner  to  remain  in  England. 
Throughout  his  eminent  and  useful  career  Natural 
History  continued  to  occupy  his  attention.  He  studied 
the  hibernation  of  the  Hedgehog,  the  fossils  of 
Gloucestershire,  and  the  habits  of  Birds  His  long- 
meditated  paper  on  the  Migration  of  Birds  was  sent 
in  to  the  Royal  Society  in  1823,  the  year  of  his 
death. 

Jenner's  Observations  on  the  Cuckoo  are  too  long 
for  verbatim  quotation,  but  as  they  are  not  accessible 
to  every  reader,  I  think  it  may  be  worth  while  to  give 
them  in  a  condensed  form.  I  preserve,  as  far  as 
possible,  the  words  of  the  author. 

"  The  first  appearance  of  Cuckoos  is  about  the  ifth 
of  April.  Like  other  migrating  Birds  they  arrive  and 
depart  in  succession,  and  are  more  numerous  in  the 
second  than  the  first  week  of  their  arrival.  The  song 
of  the  male  soon  proclaims  its  arrival.  The  song  of 
the  female  is  widely  different,  and  I  believe  that  few 
are  acquainted  with  it ;  the  cry  of  the  Dab-chick 
bears  the  nearest  resemblance  to  it.1 

"  Unlike  most  Birds,  Cuckoos  do  not  pair.  The 
female  does  not  begin  to  lay  till  some  weeks  after  her 

1  Some  naturalists  are  of  opinion  that  the  female  bird  calls 
"Cuckoo  "  like  the  male  ;  but  clear  and  direct  testimony  cannot 
be  quoted.  See  Newton  m  Yarrell's  British  Birds,  4th  edition, 
Vol.  2,  and  Zoologist >  June,  1886. 


no  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

arrival.  I  never  could  procure  an  egg  till  after  the 
middle  of  May.1 

"The  Cuckoo  makes  choice  of  the  nests -of  a  great 
variety  of  small  Birds.  I  have  known  its  egg 
intrusted  to  the  care  of  the  Hedge-sparrow,  the 
Water-wagtail,  the  Titlark,  the  Yellow-hammer, 
the  Green-Linnet,  and  the  Whinchat ; 2  among 
these  it  generally  selects  the  three  former,  but 
shows  a  much  greater  partiality  to  the  Hedge- 
sparrow  than  to  any  of  the  rest.  The  Hedge-sparrow 
commonly  takes  up  four  or  five  days  in  laying  her 
eggs.  During  this  time  (generally  after  she  has  laid 
one  or  two)  the  Cuckoo  contrives  to  deposit  her  egg 
among  the  rest.  When  the  Hedge-sparrow  (or  other 
Bird)  has  sat  her  usual  time,  and  disengaged  the 
young  Cuckoo  and  some  of  her  own  offspring  from 
the  shell,  her  own  young  ones  and  any  of  her  eggs 
that  remain  unhatched,  are  soon  turned  out,  the  young 
Cuckoo,  which  is  commonly  hatched  first,  remaining 
possessor  of  the  nest,  and  sole  object  of  her  future 
care.  The  young  Birds  are  not  previously  killed,  nor 
are  the  eggs  demolished  ;  but  all  are  left  to  perish 
together,  either  entangled  about  the  bush  which 
contains  the  nest,  or  lying  on  the  ground  under  it. 

"June   1 8,  1787,  I  examined  the  nest  of  a   Hedge  - 

1  The  Cuckoo  is  said  by  Dr.  Rey  to  lay  an  egg  every  other 
day  (sometimes  every  day  for  a  short  time)  from  the  middle  of 
May  to  the  middle  of  July. 

2  To  this  list  we  may  add  the  Wren,  the  Red-backed  Shrike, 
the  Bunting,  and  the  Redstart.  There  is  a  fuller  list  in  Rafting's 
Summer  Mtgran/s,  pp.  222-3.     No  fewer  than  110  species  of 
birds  are  recorded  as  having  been  known  to  hatch  the  eggs  of 
the  Cuckoo. 


THE  CUCKOO  in 

sparrow  which  then  contained  a  Cuckoo's  and  three 
Hedge-sparrow's  eggs.  On  inspecting  it  the  day 
following  I  found  that  the  nest  now  contained  only  a 
young  Cuckoo  and  one  young  Hedge-sparrow.  The 
nest  was  placed  so  near  the  extremity  of  a  hedge,  that 
I  could  distinctly  see  what  was  going  forward  in  it,  and 
to  my  astonishment,  I  saw  the  young  Cuckoo  in  the  act 
of  turning  out  the  young  Hedge-sparrow.  The  mode 
of  accomplishing  this  was  very  curious.  The  Cuckoo, 
with  the  assistance  of  its  rump  and  wings,  contrived 
to  get  the  other  Bird  upon  its  back,  and  making  a 
lodgment  for  the  burden  by  elevating  its  elbows 
clambered  backward  with  it  up  the  side  of  the  nest 
till  it  reached  the  top,  where,  resting  for  a  moment  it 
threw  off  its  load  with  a  jerk,  and  quite  disengaged  it 
from  the  nest.  It  remained  for  a  short  time  feeling 
about  with  the  extremities  of  its  wings,  as  if  to  be 
convinced  that  the  business  was  properly  executed, 
and  then  dropped  into  the  nest  again.  I  ha-ve  often 
seen  it  examine,  as  it  were,  with  the  extremities  of  its 
wings,  an  egg  and  nestling  before  it  began  its 
operations,  and  the  nice  sensibility  which  these  parts 
seem  to  possess,  compensated  the  want  of  sight, 
which  as  yet  it  was  destitute  of.  I  afterwards  put  in 
an  egg,  and  this  by  a  similar  process,  was  conveyed  to 
the  edge  of  the  nest,  and  thrown  out.  These  experi- 
ments I  have  repeated  several  times  in  different  nests, 
and  have  always  found  the  young  Cuckoo  disposed  to 
act  in  the  same  manner.  In  climbing  up  the  nest,  it 
sometimes  drops  its  burden,  and  thus  is  foiled  in  its 
endeavours,  but  after  a  little  respite,  the  work  is 
resumed,  and  goes  on  almost  incessantly  till  it  is 


H2  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

effected.  This  disposition  for  turning  out  its  com- 
panions declines  from  the  time  it  is  two  or  three  days 
old.  I  have  frequently  seen  a  young  Cuckoo,  hatched 
nine  or  ten  days,  remove  a  nestling  that  had  been 
placed  in  the  nest  with  it,  but  suffer  an  egg,  put  there 
at  the  same  time  to  remain  unmolested.  The  singu- 
larity of  its  shape  is  well  adapted  to  these  purposes, 
for,  different  from  other  newly  hatched  Birds,  its  back 
from  the  scapulae  downwards  is  very  broad,  with  a 
considerable  depression  in  the  middle.  This  depression 
seems  formed "  by  nature  to  give  a  more  secure 
lodgment  to  the  egg  or  the  young  Bird,  when  the 
Cuckoo  is  employed  in  removing  either  of  them  from 
the  nest.  When  it  is  about  twelve  days  old,  the 
cavity  is  quite  filled  up,  and  then  the  back  assumes 
the  shape  of  nestling  birds  in  general. 

"July  9. — A  young  Cuckoo,  that  had  been  hatched 
by  a  Hedge-sparrow  about  four  hours,  was  confined 
in  the  nest  in  such  a  manner  that  it  could  not  possibly 
turn  out  the  young  Hedge-sparrows  which  were 
hatched  at  the  same  time,  though  it  was  almost  in- 
cessantly making  attempts  to  effect  it.  The  conse- 
quence was,  the  old  Birds  fed  the  whole  alike,  and 
appeared  in  every  respect  to  pay  the  same  attention 
to  their  own  young  as  to  the  young  Cuckoo,  until  the 
1 3th,  when  the  nest  was  unfortunately  plundered. 

"  The  smallness  of  the  Cuckoo's  egg  in  proportion 
to  the  size  of  the  Bird  is  a  circumstance  that  hitherto, 
I  believe,  has  escaped  the  notice  of  the  ornithologist.  ^ 
So  great  is  the  disproportion,  that  the  egg  is  in  general 
smaller  than  that  of  the  House-sparrow,  whereas  the 
difference  in  the  size  of  the  Birds  is  nearly  as  five  to 


THE  CUCKOO  113 

one.  Eggs  produced  at  different  times  by  the  same 
Cuckoo  vary  very  much  in  size.  I  have  found  one 
that  weighed  only  forty-three  grains,  and  another  that 
weighed  fifty-five  grains.  The  colour  is  extremely 
variable  :  some,  both  in  ground  and  pencilling,  very 
much  resemble  the  House-sparrow's  ;  some  are  in- 
distinctly covered  with  bran-coloured  spots ;  and 
others  are  marked  with  lines  of  black,  resembling  in 
some  measure  the  eggs  of  the  Yellow-hammer. 

"  The  circumstance  of  the  young  Cuckoo's  being 
destined  by  nature  to  throw  out  the  young  Hedge- 
sparrows,  seems  to  account  for  the  parent-Cuckoo's 
dropping  her  egg  in  the  nest  of  Birds  so  small  as 
those  I  have  particularised.  If  she  were  to  do  this  in  the 
nest  of  a  Bird  which  produced  a  large  egg,  and  con- 
sequently a  large  nestling,  the  young  Cuckoo  would 
probably  be  unable  to  throw  out  the  young  Birds.  I 
have  known  a  case  in  which  a  Hedge-sparrow  sat 
upon  a  Cuckoo's  egg  and  one  of  her  own.  Her  own 
egg  was  hatched  five  days  before  the  Cuckoo's,  and 
the  young  Hedge-sparrow  gained  such  a  superiority 
in  size  that  the  Cuckoo  was  unable  to  lift  it  out  of  the 
nest  till  the  Cuckoo  was  two  days  old. 

"  It  appears  a  little  extraordinary  that  two  Cuckoos' 
eggs  should  ever  be  deposited  in  the  same  nest,  as  the 
young  one  produced  from  one  of  them  must  inevitably 
perish  ;  yet  I  have  known  two  instances  of  this  kind, 
one  of  which  I  shall  relate. 

"June  27,  1787. — Two  Cuckoos  and  a  Hedge- 
sparrow  were  hatched  in  the  same  nest  this  morning  ; 
one  Hedge-sparrow's  egg  remained  unhatched.  A 
few  hours  after  a  contest  began  between  the  Cuckoos, 

I 


H4  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

which  continued  undetermined  till  the  next  afternoon, 
when  one  of  them,  which  was  somewhat  superior  in 
size,  turned  out  the  other,  together  with  the  young 
Hedge-sparrow  and  the  unhatched  egg.  The  contest 
was  very  remarkable.  The  combatants  alternately 
appeared  to  have  the  advantage,  as  each  carried  the 
other  several  times  nearly  to  the  top  of  the  nest,  and 
then  sunk  down  again,  oppressed  by  the  weight  of 
its  burden,  till  at  length  the  strongest  prevailed,  and 
was  afterwards  brought  up  by  the  Hedge-sparrows. 

"  Why  should  not  the  Cuckoo,  like  other  Birds,  build 
a  nest,  incubate  its  eggs,  and  rear  its  own  young  ? 
There  is  no  reason  to  be  assigned  from  the  formation 
of  the  Bird,  why  it  should  not  perform  all  these 
several  offices.  May  not  the  singularities  of  the 
Cuckoo  be  owing  to  the  short  residence  this  Bird 
makes  in  the  country  where  it  propagates,  and  the 
call  of  nature  to  produce  during  that  short  residence  a 
numerous  progeny  ?  The  Cuckoo's  first  appearance 
here  is  about  the  middle  of  April,  commonly  on  the 
i/th.1  Its  egg  is  not  ready  for  incubation  till  some 
weeks  after  its  arrival,  seldom  before  the  middle  of 
May.  A  fortnight  is  taken  up  by  the  sitting  Bird  in 
hatching  the  egg.  The  young  Bird  generally  con- 
tinues about  three  weeks  in  the  nest  before  it  flies, 
and  the  foster-parents  feed  it  more  than  five  weeks  after 
this  period  ;  so  that  [even]  if  a  Cuckoo  should  be  ready 
with  an  egg  much  sooner  than  the  time  pointed  out, 
not  a  single  nestling  would  be  fit  to  provide  for  itself 
before  its  parent  would  be  instinctively  directed  to 

1   In  other  parts  of  England  the  Cuckoo  often  arrives  a  few 
days  earlier. 


THE  CUCKOO  115 

seek  a  new  residence  :    for  old  Cuckoos  take   their 
leave  of  this  country  the  first  week  in  July. 

"  The  Cuckoo  goes  on  laying  till  the  eve  of  her 
departure  from  this  country,  for  though  old  Cuckoos 
in  general  take  their  leave  the  first  week  in  July,  I 
have  known  an  egg  to  be  hatched  in  the  nest  of  a 
Hedge-sparrow  so  late  as  the  I5th. 

"Among  the  many  peculiarities  of  the  young 
Cuckoo  there  is  one  that  shows  itself  very  early. 
Long  before  it  leaves  the  nest  it  frequently,  when 
irritated,  assumes  the  manner  of  a  Bird  of  prey,  looks 
ferocious,  throws  itself  back,  and  pecks  at  anything 
presented  to  it  with  great  vehemence,  often  at  the 
same  time  making  a  chuckling  noise,  like  a  young 
Hawk.  Sometimes,  when  disturbed  in  a  smaller 
degree,  it  makes  a  kind  of  hissing  noise,  accompanied 
with  a  heaving  motion  of  the  whole  body.  The 
growth  of  the  young  Cuckoo  is  uncommonly  rapid. 
The  chirp  is  plaintive,  like  that  of  the  Hedge- 
sparrow  ;  but  the  sound  is  not  acquired  from  the 
foster-parent,  as  it  is  the  same  whether  it  be  reared 
by  the  Hedge-sparrow  or  any  other  Bird.  It  never 
acquires  the  adult  note  during  its  stay  in  this  country. 

"  The  stomachs  of  young  Cuckoos  contain  a  great 
variety  of  food,  animal  or  vegetable.  Hedge- 
sparrows  in  general  feed  the  young  Cuckoo  with 
scarcely  anything  but  animal  food  ;  the  Titlark  feeds 
it  principally  with  grasshoppers.  In  one  fed  by 
Hedge-sparrows,  the  contents  of  the  stomach  were 
almost  entirely  vegetable,  such  as  wheat,  small 
vetches,  etc.  This  served  to  clear  up  a  point  which 
before  had  somewhat  puzzled  me  ;  for  having  found 

I   2 


u6  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

the  Cuckoo's  egg  in  the  nest  of  a  Green-Linnet,  which 
begins  very  early  to  feed  its  young  with  vegetable 
food,  I  was  apprehensive  till  I  saw  this  fact  that  this 
Bird  would  have  been  an  unfit  foster-parent  for  the 
young  Cuckoo. 

"  There  seems  to  be  no  precise  time  fixed  for 
the  departure  of  young  Cuckoos.  I  believe  they  go 
off  in  succession,  probably  as  soon  as  they  are  capable 
of  taking  care  of  themselves.  Though  they  stay  here 
till  they  are  nearly  equal  in  size  and  growth  of 
plumage  to  the  old  Cuckoo,  yet  the  fostering  care  of 
the  Hedge-sparrow  is  not  withdrawn  from  them.  I 
have  frequently  seen  the  young  Cuckoo  of  such  a  size 
that  the  Hedge-sparrow  has  perched  on  its  back  or 
half-expanded  wing,  in  order  to  put  the  food  into  its 
mouth.  At  this  advanced  stage,  I  believe  that  young 
Cuckoos  procure  some  food  for  themselves.  If  they 
did  not  go  off  in  succession,  it  is  probable  that  we 
should  see  them  in  large  numbers  by  the  middle  of 
August,  but  they  are  not  more  numerous  at  any 
season  than  the  parent-birds  in  May  and  June." 

The  habits  of  the  Cuckoo  afford  a  tempting  field 
for  speculation,  and  many  attempts  have  been  made 
to  trace  the  probable  origin  of  the  instinct  which 
leads  this  Bird  to  lay  her  eggs  in  the  nests  of  others. 
Jenner,  as  we  have  seen,  looks  upon  the  necessity  of 
early  migration  from  the  north  as  the  determining 
cause.  But  the  early  migration  is  still  an  unexplained 
fact.  Is  it  an  antecedent  or  a  consequent?  "Does 
the  Cuckoo  lay  her  eggs  in  other  Birds'  nests,  in 
order  that  she  may  leave  early,  or  does  she  leave 


THE  CUCKOO  117 

early  because  she  has  no  young  brood  to  detain  her 
in  the  north  ?  Has  she  a  motive  independent  of  her 
young  for  retreating  in  July  ?  We  cannot  tell. 

It  has  been  supposed  that  the  parasitic  egg-laying 
of  the  Cuckoo  depends  upon  the  circumstance  that 
the  eggs  instead  of  being  laid  daily,  mature  in  suc- 
cession, with  intervals  of  two  or  three  days.  If  all 
the  eggs  were  hatched  in  the  same  nest,  the  operation 
would  be  protracted,  and  inconvenience  would  result 
from  the  existence  of  eggs,  young  nestlings  and  older 
nestlings  in  the  same  nest.  This  actually  happens 
in  the  case  of  the  American  Cuckoo  which  is  non- 
parasitic.  Such  a  negative  exception  is  not  a  refutation, 
but  we  have  no  proof  that  the  rate  of  formation  of  the 
eggs  is  a  fixed  and  unalterable  condition,  capable  of 
dictating  the  mode  of  incubation. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the  habits  of  the 
Cuckoo  are  not  absolutely  determined  by  obvious 
facts  of  structure,  and  also  that  other  Birds  exhibit 
the  beginnings  of  a  possible  parasitic  instinct.  Some 
species  of  Cuckoo  build  their  own  nests,  hatch  their 
own  eggs,  and  feed  their  own  young.  The  common 
American  Cuckoo  is  one  of  these.  Our  common 
Cuckoo  has  been  said  to  lay  her  eggs  on  the  bare 
ground,  to  hatch  them,  and  to  feed  the  young.1  There 
are  several  truly  parasitic  Cuckoos  besides  our 
familiar  species.  One  of  these  is  European,  three  are 
Australian.2  This  affords  the  possibility  of  deciding 

1  Mr.  Harting  suggests  that  there  may  be  an  error  of  obser- 
vation   here,    and   that    the    Nightjar   has    been   taken   for    a 
Cuckoo. 

2  Ramsay,  quoted  in  Darwin's  Origin  of  Species,  Chap.  VII. 


ii8  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

which  facts  of  structure  and  life-history  are  and  which 
are  not  necessary  to  the  parasitic  mode  of  incubation. 
It  would  seem  probable  that  the  small  size  of  the 
egg  is  directly  connected  with  parasitism.  Whether 
early  migration  or  even  migration  at  all  is  an  essen- 
tial condition  I  do  not  know.  By  comparison  of 
various  species  of  parasitic  Birds  it  appears  that 
they  are  prone  to  lay  their  eggs  in  the  nests  of 
Birds  whose  eggs  are  somewhat  similar  in  size  and 
colour.  This  tendency  perhaps  exists  in  our  com- 
mon Cuckoo,  though  the  contrast  between  her  eggs 
and  those  of  the  Hedge-sparrow  is  notorious.  There 
is  some  reason  for  supposing  that  the  colour  of  the 
eggs  laid  by  every  female  is  peculiar  and  constant 
Each  Cuckoo  returns,  it  is  believed,  year  after  year  to 
the  same  place,  and  lays  her  eggs  in  the  nests  of  one 
particular  species  only.  Dr.  Rey  supposes  that  each 
Cuckoo  keeps  to  the  nests  of  that  species  by  which 
she  was  herself  reared.1  Certain  Birds  which  are 
not  Cuckoos  at  all  regularly  lay  their  eggs  in  the 
nests  of  other  Birds.  Among  these  are  more  than 
one  species  of  Icteridae,  some  of  which  are  named 
Orioles,  though  not  belonging  to  the  family  of  true 
Orioles.  Various  Birds  of  the  most  diverse  kinds 
have  been  known  to  practise  the  same  trick  casually. 
The  Starling's  egg  for  instance,  has  been  found  in  a 
Woodpecker's  nest.  Much  work  remains  to  be  done 
in  the  way  of  collecting,  authenticating,  and  com- 

1  Altes  und  Neucs  aus  dcni  Haushalte  des  Kuckitcks  An  in- 
teresting discussion  of  the  question  is  to  be  found  in  Harting's 
Summer  Migrants,  pp.  224-8. 


THE  CUCKOO  119 

paring  information  before  an  adequate  history  of  the 
instinct  can  be  related. 

Our  Cuckoo  is  said  to  be  unable  from  its  size  to  sit 
upon  the  nests  in  which  its  eggs  are  commonly  laid, 
and  therefore  unable  to  lay  in  the  usual  fashion. 
Several  witnesses,  apparently  trustworthy,  are  quoted 
as  having  seen  the  Cuckoo  carry  her  egg  in  her  bill. 
One  observer  watched  a  Cuckoo  through  a  telescope, 
saw  her  lay  her  egg  on  a  bank,  and  then  carry  it  in 
her  bill  to  a  Wagtail's  nest.1  Dr..  Rey  quotes  a 
case  of  a  Cuckoo's  egg  smeared  with  red  earth 
similar  to  that  which  covered  the  ground  about  the 
nest. 

It  has  been  repeatedly  said  that  it  is  the  female 
Cuckoo  or  the  Birds  to  whom  the  nest  belongs,  which 
turn  out  the  nestlings.2  Jenner's  narrative,  which  is 
very  explicit,  has  however  been  confirmed  by  sub- 
sequent observers,  and  appears  to  be  entitled  to  full 
credit.  Montagu  saw  a  young  Cuckoo  repeatedly 
throw  out  a  young  Swallow  put  into  the  nest  for  the 
purpose  of  experiment.  Blackwall  saw  a  nestling 
Cuckoo  turn  both  young  Birds  and  eggs  out  of  the 
nest  in  which  he  had  placed  them  for  the  purpose. 
Mrs.  Blackburn  made  a  clever  drawing  of  a  young 

1  This  and  other  cases  are  given  in   Newton's  Dictionary  of 
Birds,  which  contains  much  curious  information  respecting  the 
habits  of  the  Cuckoo. 

2  It  is  strongly  maintained  by  X.  Raspail  in  a  recent  paper 
(Mem.  Soc.  ZooL  de  France,  1895)  that  the  hen  Cuckoo  watches 
the  process  of  hatching,  and  as  soon  as  the  chicks  begin  to  free 
themselves,  destroys  the  eggs  with  her  beak.     She  throws  the 
eggs  or  the  young  Birds  out  of  the  nest  as  soon  as  her  own  egg 
is  hatched. 


120  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Cuckoo  in  the  act  of  ejecting  a  nestling  Pipit  (See 
Gould's  Introduction,  or  Harting's  Summer  Migrants}. 
John  Hancock  baw  a  young  Cuckoo  make  repeated 
and  at  length  successful  efforts  to  throw  out  the  eggs 
and  nestlings  of  a  Hedge  Sparrow.  (Nat.  Hist.  Trans. 
Northumberland  and  Durham,  Vol.  VIII.  ;  reprinted 
in  Zoologist,  May,  1886.)  The  accounts  of  Montagu, 
Blackwall,  and  Mrs.  Blackburn  are  fully  related  in 
Harting's  Summer  Migrants. 

Like  some  other  Birds,  the  Cuckoo  changes  his 
note  after  the  breeding  season.  The  cry  becomes 
hoarser,  the  first  syllable  is  sometimes  doubled, 
and  the  musical  interval  between  the  two  sounds 
is  altered. 

Jenner  only  slightly  refers  to  one  singular  feature 
of  the  Cuckoo,  viz.,  its  resemblance  to  a  Sparrow- 
hawk.  Many  inexperienced  people  have  been  deceived 
by  it.  The  barred  plumage  of  the  chest,  belly  and 
legs  are  the  chief  means  of  deception,  but  there  is 
also  a  resemblance  of  attitude.  The  small  Birds 
seem  to  be  imposed  upon,  for  they  show  terror  at  the 
sight  of  a  Cuckoo,  desert  their  nests  and  build  new 
ones  when  intruded  upon  by  her,  or  at  other  times 
collect  and  chase  her  as  they  would  chase  a  Sparrow- 
hawk.  It  is  common  to  see  a  Cuckoo  followed  like  a 
Hawk  by  a  small  bird,  and  late  in  summer  a  young 
Cuckoo  is  not  unfrequently  mistaken  for  a  Hawk  by 
some  manor  boy,  and  shot.  It  seems  likely  that  the 
Hawk-like  appearance  of  the  Cuckoo  intimidates  the 
sitting  Bird,  and  causes  her  to  offer  less  resistance  to 
the  invasion  of  her  nest.  But  we  have  still  much  to 
learn  about  the  difficulties  and  artifices  of  the  Cuckoo. 


BUDS 


121 


BUDS. 

April  20. — The  trees  are  fast  coming  into  leaf.  It 
is  a  good  time  for  observing  the  structure  of  buds, 
and  seeing  how  they  expand.  Let  us  begin  by 


FIG.  36. — Bud  of  Sycamore,  expanding,  with  outer  scales  and  inner  folded  foliage- 
leaves. 


examining    a    Sycamore-bud,  which  is    big   and    of 
simple  structure. 

I  gather  a  Sycamore-bud  which  is  bursting,  and  the 
first  thing  which  catches  the  eye  is  that  it  is  enveloped 


122  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

in  a  number  of  tough  scales.  The  outer  scales  and 
the  tips  of  the  inner  ones  have  been  long  exposed  to 
the  air,  and  are  dark-coloured  ;  the  parts  which  were 
concealed  in  the  unexpanded  bud  are  paler.  There 
are  four  rows  of  scales,  two  opposite  rows  of  four 
each,  and  two  intermediate  rows  of  three  each  ;  there 
are  therefore  fourteen  scales  to  the  bud,  or  sometimes 
twelve  only.  All  these  are  carried  upon  a  short  stem. 
If  we  strip  off  all  the  scales,  one  by  one,  we  shall  find 
two  pairs  of  folded  foliage-leaves  in  the  centre  of  the 
bud.  This  is  most  easily  seen  in  a  bud  which  has 
already  expanded,  and  whose  parts  are  enlarged. 

On  the  ground  beneath  the  Sycamore  hundreds  of 
bud-scales  are  lying  about.  They  are  deciduous,  and 
are  cast  as  soon  as  their  purpose  has  been  served. 
We  may  conclude  from  this  that  they  serve  only  for 
the  protection  of  the  folded  leaves  within.  Pick  up  a 
few  of  the  fallen  bud-scales.  They  are  rather  long 
and  narrow,  deeply  concave  on  the  side  which  faced 
inwards,  and  well  shaped  for  wrapping  round  the  bud. 
At  the  top  of  each  scale  is  a  small  knob  or  point. 
Look  at  it  with  a  lens.  You  will  see  (more  distinctly 
in  some  than  in  others)  a  small  three-lobed  projection. 
This  is  often  curved  round  to  the  inner  side  of  the 
scale,  and  sometimes  hidden  by  a  mass  of  brown 
hairs.  On  some  of  the  larger  scales,  which  were  next 
to  the  folded  leaves,  the  projection  at  the  summit  is 
five-lobed  and  quite  leaflike.  We  can  hardly  be 
wrong  if  we  call  it  a  rudimentary  leaf-blade.  In  the 
Flowering  Currant,  as  well  as  in  some  other  trees  and 
shrubs,  this  leaf-blade  often  attains  a  fair  size,  turns 
green,  and  remains  for  a  long  time  attached  to  the 


BUDS 


123 


branch  by  its  supporting  scale.  If  the  tip  of  the  scale 
is  a  rudimentary  leaf,  what  is  the  scale  itself?  A 
leaf-stalk,  surely.  That  seems  a  natural  and  almost 


FIG  37. — Hud  -  scale 
of  Sycamore,  with 
rudimentary  leaf. 
Magnified. 


FIG.  38. — Bud-scale  of 
Flowering  Currant,  with 
rudimentary  leaf.  Mag- 
nified. 


inevitable  answer,  but  it  is  wrong,  as  we  shall  see  by 
and  by. 

Some  Sycamore-buds  contain  bunches  of  flowers 
as  well  as  leaves.  These  are  larger,  and  expand 
earlier  than  those  which  produce  leaves  only. 


I24  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Let  us  now  turn  to  the  true  foliage-leaves  in  the 
centre  of  the  bud.  They  are  folded  up  fan-wise. 
Why  is  this  ? 

A  few  weeks  ago  it  was  hard  frost,  but  the  Syca- 
more-buds were  already  fully  formed  and  exposed  to 
the  air.  They  were  to  be  seen  all  through  the  winter, 


IMC.  39. — Cross-section  of  Sycamore,  showing  scales  and  folded  foliage-leaves. 
Magnified. 


and  had  to  endure  all  the  cold  and  wet  of  the  severe 
season.  One  obvious  precaution  is  to  restrict  as  much 
as  possible  the  exposed  surface  of  the  leaves.  Hence 
leaves  in  the  bud  are  packed  up  tightly,  sometimes 
folded,  sometimes  crumpled  up,  sometimes  rolled 
round.  The  hardships  of  winter  explain  why  the 


BUDS  125 

leaves  are  enveloped  in  scales.     The  scales  keep  off 
cold  air  and  moisture. 

We  -can  imitate  the  folding  of  the  Sycamore-leaf  by 
a  paper  model.  Take  a  sheet  of  paper,  cut  it  to  a 
roundish  shape,  and  fold  it  along  the  middle.  On 


FIG.  40.— Cross-section  of  folded  foliage-leaves  from  bud  of  Sycamore  (two  pairs). 
.    Highly  magnified. 


each  side  of  the  first  fold  make  two  symmetrical  folds. 
To  imitate  the  Sycamore-leaf  as  closely  as  possible 
the  spaces  between  the  folds  must  be  narrow  towards 
the  base,  and  widen  out  towards  the  tip,  as  in  a  fan. 
When  folded  up  tight,  the  paper  model  will  have  a 
pointed  base  and  a  square  end.  Such  a  shape  is  not 


126 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


good  for  close  packing.  The  square  ends  of  four 
leaves  would  give  the  bud  a  great  bulging  tip.  Let 
us  bring  our  paper  model  to  a  point  by  cutting 
obliquely  through  the  folds  near  the  apex.  Observe 
that  the  cut  must  not  interfere  with  the  midrib,  lest 
the  leaf  be  weakened,  but  should  slope  towards  the 
opposite  side  of  the  folded  leaf.  When  the  paper  is 


FIG.  41. — Leaf  of  Sycamore. 


unfolded  after  being  cut  through,  it  will  be  five- 
fingered.  Four  such  leaves,  pointed  at  base  and  apex, 
will  go  into  a  neat  oval  bud.  The  five-fingered 
Sycamore-leaf  is  well-shaped  for  packing,  but  I  will 
not  say  that  this  is  its  only  merit. 

We  will  take  the  bud  of  the  Beech  as   our   next 
example.     It  is  long,  slender  and  pointed.     In  spring 


BUDS  127 

it  swells  and  lengthens  ;  the  numerous  bud-scales  part, 
and  several  brown  membranes  (stipules)  appear 
between  them.  As  the  bud  expands  more  fully, 
green  leaves  push  out  from  among  the  brown  stipules. 
As  in  the  Sycamore  the  leaf  is  folded.  From  the 
midrib  about  ten  pairs  of  lateral  ribs  are  given  off,  and 
the  thin,  green  blade  is  sharply  folded  between  each 
pair.  The  ribs  and  the  margin  of  the  leaf  are  fringed 
with  silky  hairs,  which  entangle  much  air,  and  so  screen 
the  delicate  young  leaf  from  cold  winds  or  fierce 
sunlight.  In  Horse  Chestnut,  the  great  White  Willow, 
and  some  other  trees  the  leaves  are  downy  when  they 
first  appear,  but  cast  all  their  hairs  before  long.  The 
shoot  enclosed  within  the  bud  of  the  Beech  grows  fast, 
and  the  stipules  soon  become  widely  spaced,  then 
the  leaves  and  leaf-stalks  are  fully  seen,  and  we 
observe  that  the  stipules  spring  in  pairs  from  the  bases 
of  the  leaves.  Each  stipule  is  a  long  curly,  strap-like 
blade,  which  withers  and  falls  off  as  soon  as  the  leaf 
is  fully  expanded. 

Stipules  do  not  always  fall  off  early.  In  Hawthorn, 
Lady's  Mantle,  Pansies,  and  many  other  plants  they 
form  small  green  leaves  of  peculiar  shape,  which  last 
all  summer.  What  are  stipules  ?  They  are  lateral 
outgrowths  from  the  leaf-base,  which  develop  early, 
and  enclose  the  central  part,  or  leaf  proper.  They  are 
often  a  protection  to  the  unexpanded  leaf,  and  where 
this  is  their  sole  function,  they  are  deciduous. 

The  principal  leaf-blade  and  the  stipules,  if  there 
are  any,  spring  from  a  particular  part  of  the  leaf,  which 
we  have  called  the  leaf-base.  This  is  flattish,  and  of 
inconsiderable  length  in  the  full-grown  leaf.  If  a  leaf- 


128  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

stalk  appears  at  all,  it  is  of  later  formation  than  the 
base  and  blade,  and  appears  between  them.  In  the 
rudimentary  leaf  of  the  bud -scale  of  Sycamore  no 
leaf-stalk  forms  because  the  development  of  the  leaf 
is  checked  in  an  early  stage.  Hence  the  bud-scale 
itself  is  not  properly,  in  the  Sycamore,  a  leaf-stalk,  but 
a  greatly  enlarged  leaf-base. 

By  close  examination  we  can  satisfy  ourselves  that 
the  bud-scales  of  the  Beech  are  not  leaf-bases,  as  in 
the  Sycamore,  but  stipules.  Between  each  pair  there 
is  a  minute  green  leaf,  which  never  develops.  The 
bud-scales  are  the  stipules  of  several  such  undeveloped 
leaves.1 

The  bud  of  Lilac  exhibits  some  interesting  pecu- 
liarities. Here  the  branch  does  not  usually  end  in  a 
single  bud,  as  in  most  trees,  but  the  terminal  bud  fails 
to  develop,  and  a  pair  of  lateral  buds  take  its  place  ; 
hence  the  strong  tendency  to  fork  which  we  find  in 
the  branches  of  Lilac.  The  central  leaves  are  en- 
veloped in  four  rows  of  bud-scales,  alternately  two 
or  three  in  a  row.  So  far  there  is  nothing  out  of  the 
common.  But  if  you  dissect  away  the  bud-scales 
and  examine  them  one  by  one,  you  will  find  that 
they  pass  by  insensible  gradations  into  ordinary 
foliage-leaves.  The  outermost  scales  are  triangular, 
the  next  longer  and  narrower  at  the  base,  and  so  on. 
There  are  no  rudiments  of  blades  at  the  tips.  The 
bud-scales  are  not  here  enlarged  leaf-bases,  but  small 
leaves,  the  blade  being  more  and  more  developed  as 
we  pass  inwards. 

Bud-scales  are  not  therefore  all  formed  exactly  in 
1  Goebel,  Bot.  Zeitimg,  p.  774  (1880). 


BUDS 


129 


the  same  way.  Some  buds  have  no  scales  at  all. 
Thus  tropical  plants,  if  they  have  no  dry  season  to 
face,  and  some  evergreens  (Ivy,  Box),  bear  naked  buds. 


FIG.  42. — Flowering  bud  of  Lilac,  partly  dissected.  Some  of  the  scales  have  been 
removed,  and  part  of  the  central  leaf  has  been  cut  away  to  show  the  flowers 
within.  Magnified. 

Some  Conifers  have  scales  (Pine,  Spruce,  Yew) ; 
others  none  (Cypress,  Juniper).  If  there  are  bud-scales, 
they  may  be  simply  leaves  of  small  size  and  simple 

K 


1 30  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

form  (Lilac,  Honeysuckle).  This  is  rarely  the  case 
with  plants  which  possess  divided  leaves.  Such  plants 
have  bud-scales  which  are  enlarged  leaf-bases,  rudi- 
ments of  the  blade  and  of  the  stipules  being  often 
visible  at  the  tip.  Sycamore,  Horse  Chestnut,  Ash, 
and  most  Rosaceous  trees  are  examples.  The  true 
foliage-leaves  may  also  be  enveloped  by  stipules, 
which  may  either  be  few,  green  and  leaf-like,  as  in 
the  Alder  and  Poplar,  or  numerous,  brown,  and 
purely  protective.  Oak  and  Beech  buds  are  of  this, 
latter  kind. 

A  bud  is  a  new  shoot,  complete  or  nearly  so  in  all 
its  parts,  but  as  yet  unexpanded.  It  consists  of  a 
stem  with  leaves  and  leaf-like  appendages,  and  per- 
haps flowers  too.  A  bud  is  a  thing  of  slow  growth, 
for  though  it  may  only  be  a  quarter  of  an  inch  long, 
it  contains  a  number  of  perfect,  if  minute  leaves,  or 
flowers,  or  both.  When  spring  comes  round  every 
sunny  day  is  of  value,  and  no  time  must  be  lost. 
Everything  is  therefore  made  ready  beforehand.  The 
leaves  and  flowers  are  all  there,  of  microscopic  size 
and  crowded  into  the  smallest  space,  but  with  the 
encouragement  of  moderate  warmth,  they  soon  swell 
out  and  unfold. 

The  buds  of  trees  and  shrubs  and  other  perennial 
plants  are  formed  months  before  they  expand.  Look 
at  a  tree  in  summer  or  autumn.  Close  to  the  base  of 
each  leaf,  in  the  angle  between  it  arid  the  branch,  or 
in  some  cases  on  the  scar  of  a  leaf  which  has  fallen 
off,  you  will  find  small  buds.  These  small  buds  are 
those  of  the  following  year.  It  is  by  no  means 
uncommon  to  find  by  careful  search  at  the  side  of  the 


BUDS  131 

bud  of  the  following  year,  still  younger  buds,  and 
when  required  these  can  be  pushed  forward  rapidly. 
Sometimes  a  late  frost  kills  the  newly-expanded  leaves, 
say,  of  a  Beech.  This  happened  in  the  year  1891. 
A'  hard  frost  on  the  night  of  Whit-Sunday  killed 
nearly  all  the  young  and  tender  leaves,  and  for  weeks 
after  all  the  Beeches  looked  brown  and  withered, 
But  before  midsummer  the  buds,  which  in  the  usual 
course  would  have  expanded  in  1892,  had  already 
pushed  forth,  and  each  of  these  showed  at  its  base  a 
bud  which  had  been  hastened  a  year,  and  which  at 
length  expanded  in  the  spring  of  1892  instead  of 

1893- 

Drought,  or  the  devastations  of  Insects  may  bring 
about  the  same  results.  Sometimes  mere  luxuriance 
of  growth  accelerates  the  development  of  the  buds, 
and  what  would  in  the  regular  course  form  winter- 
buds  expand  and  develop  into  shoots  in  July.  Such 
fresh  summer  shoots  are  common  in  Horse  Chestnut. 
Elder,  and  Sycamore  for  instance. 

We  can  produce  these  results  at  pleasure  by  re- 
moving the  leaves  from  young  shoots  in  spring. 
When  the  buds  are  thus  made  to  expand  a  year  in 
advance,  the  leaves  whose  development  had  been 
arrested,  in  order  that  they  might  be  converted  into 
bud-scales,  resume  their  growth,  and  expand  into 
fully  formed  foliage-leaves  or  transitional  forms  con- 
necting these  with  bud-scales.  It  is  as  if  the  tree 
perceived  that  leaves  and  not  bud-scales  would  be 
wanted  immediately.  New  buds  form  in  the  axils  of 
the  leaves  thus  hurried  on,  and  it  is  these  which  open 
in  the  following  spring. 

K  2 


I32  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

The  protection  of  leaf-buds  is  effected  in  various 
ways.  The  bud-scales  are  sometimes  downy,  as  in 
buds  of  the  Willow  ;  sometimes  they  pour  forth  a 
sticky  substance,  made  of  resin  or  gum,  especially  at 
the  time  when  the  bud  is  just  ready  to  open.  Such 
secretions  are  found  in  the  buds  of  the  Horse-Chest- 
nut and  the  Black  Poplar.  Hairs  protect  the  bud 
from  both  cold  and  wet,  chiefly  by  enclosing  air, 
which  cannot  easily  be  dislodged  from  very  narrow 
spaces.  Imprisoned  air  is  a  very  bad  conductor  of 
heat,  and  it  does  not  allow  water  to  penetrate. 
Even  when  the  bud-scales  are  not  downy,  the  thin 
layers  of  air  between  them  are  a  great  protection. 
Sometimes  the  bud-scales  are  excavated  by  broad 
and  very  thin  air-spaces.  Many  buds,  especially  of 
herbaceous  plants,  are  buried  beneath  the  ground. 

But  for  disturbing  circumstances,  which  are,  how- 
ever, inevitable  in  the  case  of  trees  and  shrubs,  every 
leaf  would  develop  a  bud  in  its  axil,  that  is,  in  the 
angle  between  it  and  the  main  stem.  It  is  easy  to 
see  that  the  shoots  would  become  terribly  crowded  if 
every  leaf  produced  its  bud,  and  every  bud  formed 
a  shoot.  But  poorly  illuminated  leaves  often  produce 
no  buds  in  their  axils,  or  the  buds  fail  to  expand. 
At  the  tips  of  the  branches,  on  the  other  hand,  where 
the  light  is  profuse,  large  buds,  developing  strong 
shoots,  will  appear.  Hence  the  branching  is  most 
vigorous  in  an  upward  and  outward  direction.  Many 
variations  are  to  be  observed,  and  these  lead  to 
variations  in  the  mode  of  branching,  and  therefore  in 
the  form  of  the  full-grown  tree.  If  the  terminal  bud 
is  larger  than  any  of  the  lateral  ones,  and  expands 


BUDS  133 

regularly  upwards,  we  shall  get  a  spiry  tree.  In  an 
Oak  there  is  a  terminal  bud,  around  which  several 
lateral  ones  are  clustered  ;  this  arrangement  gives 
the  rosette-like  branching  which  we  all  know.  In 
Lilac,  as  we  have  already  seen,  the  terminal  bud 
always  fails  to  develop,  and  a  pair  of  lateral  ones 
take  its  place  ;  hence  the  strong  tendency  to  fork 
which  we  observe  in  this  shrub.  In  the  Elm  and 
Lime  also  the  terminal  bud  fails  to  develop,  though 
it  is  often  vigorous  up  to  a  certain  point.  Here  the 
lateral  bud  next  below  takes  up  the  running,  and 
pushes  out  very  nearly  in  the  line  of  a  regularly 
expanding  terminal  bud. 

There  is  no  constant  position  for  the  flower-buds 
of  trees  and  shrubs.  They  may  be  terminal,  but  are 
more  commonly  lateral,  as  in  the  Willow.  Some- 
times there  is  no  separate  winter  flower-bud  at  all,  as 
in  Beech  and  Oak.  Here  the  flowers  appear  in  the 
axils  of  an  ordinary  leafy  shoot.  The  flower-buds 
are  often,  however,  of  special  size  and  shape,  and 
enclose  a  leafy  or  leafless  inflorescence.  They  may 
often  be  distinguished  from  ordinary  winter-buds 
weeks  before  they  expand,  and  the  flowers  can  be 
made  out  by  opening  or  cutting  across  the  bud  as 
early  as  the  previous  autumn  or  summer. 

Many  plants  make  use  of  their  buds  as  means  of 
propagation.  All  the  organs  necessary  to  a  plant  are 
present  in  a  bud  or  can  be  readily  formed  upon  it. 
Stem  and  leaves  are  already  there.  Roots  can  be 
pushed  out  from  the  stem  when  required.  The  leafy 
stem  can  form  flowers  when  flowers  are  wanted.  If 
the  bud  is  to  grow  into  an  independent  plant,  it  must 


134 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


in  general  be  detached  from  the  parent.      See  how 
this  is  managed  in  the  Strawberry  or  the  creeping 


FIG.  43. — Moschatel.     (Adoxa  inoschatellina,) 

Buttercup.  They  push  out,  sometimes  very  rapidly, 
a  stalk  or  runner,  which  lengthens  and  makes  its  way 
over  the  ground.  The  runner  bears  one  or  more 


BUDS  135 

buds,  which  are  thus  carried  to  a  place  where  they 
have  room  to  establish  themselves.  Before  long  they 
become  rooted,  and  send  up  new  upright  stems.  The 
Celandine  forms  numbers  of  little  green  buds  which 
break  loose  and  are  scattered  (how,  I  do  not  know). 
You  may  sometimes  find  them  in  hundreds  and 
thousands,  lying  loose  on  a  lawn.  These  little  buds 
are  capable  of  growing  into  full-sized  plants.  The 


FIG.  44. — Head  of  Flowers  of  Moschatel. 

Ladies'  Smock  and  the  Water-cress  form  little  bulbs 
on  the  leaves  in  the  same  way. 

Flower-buds  often  exhibit  beautiful  arrangements 
for  close-packing.  It  is  hard  to  see  without  a  micro- 
scope the  very  minute  flowers,  and  the  way  in  which 
they  are  arranged  long  before  the  bud  opens.  But  I 
will  mention  one  case  where  the  need  for  close-pack- 
ing seems  to  govern  the  shape  and  arrangement  of 
the  fully-opened  flower. 

In  some  parts,  of  the  country  the  little  Muscatel  is. 


I36 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


a  common  hedge-row  flower  in  April  or  May.  It 
bears  five,  small,  greenish  flowers  on  one  flowrer-stalk. 
Many  young  naturalists  have  gathered  these  clustered 
cups,  and  have  wondered  to  see  that  the  side-flowers 
are  differently  made  from  the  single  flower  at  the  top. 
Each  side-flower  is  five-pointed, 
bearing  five  petals,  ten  stamens, 
and  five  carpels.  But  the  top 
flower  is  four-pointed,  and  has 
only  four  petals,  eight  stamens, 
and  four  carpels.  Why  this 
difference?  We  will  suppose 
that  the  number  of  the  flowers 
in  the  head  is  determined  by 
causes  not  known  to  us,  and  that 
five  has  proved  to  be  the  most 
convenient  number.  We  will 
also  take  it  for  granted  that  the 
arrangement  of  the  five  flowers 
into  a  compact  head  is  bene- 
ficial to  the  Muscatel,  though 
the  reason  is  not  known  to  me 
at  least.  Then  the  necessity 
FIG.  45.-Fiowers  of  MOS-  for  neat  packing  in  the  bud 

cnatel,  «,  uppermost  flower  ; 

b,  ditto,  seen  from   beneath ;       requires      that       tllC       side-flowers 

r,   lateral   flower,   seen   from 

shall    be   five-pointed,    and    the 
top     flower    four-pointed.     The 

whole  head  is  of  nearly  globular  shape,  with  six  faces 
regularly  placed  all  round.  Each  flower  occupies  one 
face,  the  sixth  and  bottom  one  being  wanted  for  the 
flower-stalk.  Take  an  apple,  and  cut  it  square  by 
paring- off  the  sides.  We  shall  get  four  vertical  faces, 


THE  BOTANY  OF  A  RAILWAY  STATION        137 

which  indicate  the  places  of  the  side-flowers.  They 
will  not  be  exactly  square,  but  each  will  have  two  up- 
right straight  edges,  a  semi-circular  edge  above,  and 
a  flatter,  curved  edge  below,  near  to  the  stalk.  Such 
a  face  is  nearly  pentagonal  or  five-cornered,  and  a 
five-cornered  flower  will  do  very  well  for  each  of  the 
four  side-places.  But  the  top-flower  must  fit  in  be- 
tween the  four  side-flowers,  and  to  do  this  neatly  it 
must  be  four-pointed.  A  five-pointed  flower  could 
only  fit  very  awkwardly  into  the  squarish  place  at  the 
top  of  the  flower-head. 

If  the  flowers  of  Muscatel  were  not  so  crowded 
together  they  might  be  all  alike.  So  too,  where  a 
great  many  small  flowers  are  packed  together  into 
one  bud,  they  may  all  have  the  same  number  of 
points,  and  this  we  find  in  the  flower-buds  of  umbel- 
bearing  flowers,  such  as  Cow-parsnip.  In  the  flower- 
bud  of  Cow-parsnip  there  is  a  dense  crowd  of  unex- 
panded  flowers,  all  five-pointed.  But  where  the  head 
consists  of  only  five  flowers,  four  beneath  and  one  on 
the  top,  it  cannot,  so  far  as  I  know,  be  neatly  and 
closely  packed  in  any  other  way  than  that  which  we 
see  in  the  Muscatel. 


THE  BOTANY  OF  A  RAILWAY  STATION. 

May  io.— The  platform  of  the  little  station  where 
we  get  in  and  out  of  the  train  every  day  was  well 
asphalted  five  or  six  years  ago.  The  pavement  is 
still  sound  and  good,  except  in  a  few  places  near  the 
palings,  where  plants  have  pushed  beneath  it,  heaved 


I38  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

it  up,  and  at  length  made  their  way  to  the  air  and 
light.  Shoots  of  Coltsfoot  and  the  common  Field 
Equisetum,  sent  out  from  plants  well  established  on 
the  adjoining  slope,  have  succeeded  in  breaking 
through  a  solid  stratum  more  than  an  inch  thick. 

I  do  not  in  the  least  understand  how  the  growing 
shoots  of  herbaceous  plants  can  force  their  way 
through  an  asphalt  pavement.  It  is  true  that  any 
observant  person  can  find  like  instances.  We  know 
of  the  sapling  which  grew  through  the  hole  in  the 
middle  of  a  millstone,  and  ended  by  lifting  the 
millstone  from  the  ground.  We  have  perhaps  seen, 
as  I  myself  have  done,  a  tree  growing  in  the  cleft  of 
a  rock,  and  at  length  forcing  asunder  fragments  which 
would  tax  the  strength  of  several  men  to  lift.  We 
talk  of  turgidity  and  the  like,  but  we  have  not  solved 
the  problem.  Where  is  the  mechanician  who  will 
undertake  to  push  a  growing  herbaceous  stem,  neither 
so  thick  nor  so  firm  as  a  lead  pencil,  through  an  inch 
of  hard  asphalt  ? 

On  the  same  platform  are  little  hollows,  hardly 
apparent  to  the  eye,  where  the  asphalt  has  been 
chipped  or  indented.  In  some  of  these  hollows  dust 
has  collected,  and  seeds  or  spores  have  germinated 
there.  A  little  annual  grass,  a  chickweed  and  a  moss 
flourish  in  these  minute  garden-plots,  few  of  which 
are  bigger  than  a  sixpence.  At  the  foot  of  one  of 
the  lamp-posts  a  handful  of  earth  and  sand  has 
collected,  and  here  five  sorts  of  flowering  plants  have 
managed  to  establish  themselves. 

Germs  of  living  things  are  scattered  everywhere, 
and  some  develop  in  the  most  unexpected  situations* 


THE  BOTANY  OF  A  RAILWAY  STATION        139 

Let  us  take  one  group  of  plants — the  Fungi,  and  one 
group  of  animals — the  Insects.  I  cannot  find  room 
for  more  than  one  or  two  examples  of  each.  Fungi 
have  been  known  to  thrive  in  the  saturated  solution 
of  copper  sulphate  used  in  a  Daniell's  cell.  Various 
species  find  nourishment  in  almost  every  animal  or 
vegetable  tissue,  alive  or  dead,  raw  or  manufactured. 
Insects  are  known  to  feed  upon  organic  matter  of 
every  kind.  Glacier  ice  harbours  one  species  in 
countless  numbers.  A  small  Beetle  feeds  upon  argol 
(crude  potassium  tartrate),  and  has  lived  and  pro- 
pagated for  years  in  a  stoppered  bottle  half  full  of 
this  substance,  which  is  kept  in  my  laboratory. 

We  speak  of  life  as  a  precious  thing,  and  such  it 
really  is.  But  we  must  admit  that  it  is  not  precious 
because  of  its  rarity.  There  is  an  unlimited  supply 
of  life  of  all  kinds  ;  it  is  food  and  opportunity  which 
run  short.  Malthus  and  the  new  Poor  Law  have 
interpreted  nature  truly  enough.  Population  of  every 
kind  is  always  tending  to  outrun  the  means  of  sub- 
sistence. Of  course  it  cannot  actually  do  so,  or 
cannot  do  it  long.  There  is  consolation  for  the 
anxious  observer  of  Man  and  nature  in  the  very 
obvious  reflection  that  intolerable  evils,  such  as 
starvation,  are  deadly,  and  work  their  own  cure.  The 
fear  of  starvation  is  an  evil  too,  but  it  is  one  of  those 
evils  which  brings  forth  good.  All  human  arts  and 
activities  orginate  in  the  fear  of  starvation,  and 
decline  when  it  is  removed.  The  natural  contri- 
vances which  delight  us  by  their  ingenuity  and 
completeness  are  just  as  much  the  outcome  of 
difficulties  about  food  and  space  as  human  arts. 


140  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Over-population  may  be  a  source  of  many  evils,  but 
it  is  the  mainspring  of  Life. 


SUMMER  TWILIGHT. 

June  21. — This  evening  we  were  able  to  play  bowls 
till  nearly  ten  o'clock.  It  is  true  that  the  last  shots 
were  made  with  some  difficulty.  It  was  necessary  to 
hold  a  white  handkerchief  or  even  a  lighted  match 
over  the  jack  to  show  where  it  was.  But  the  finish 
was  exciting,  and  we  persisted  till  five  minutes  to  ten. 
At  that  time  the  north-western  sky  was  still  bright, 
and  we  smoked  on  the  terrace  for  a  long  time, 
watching  the  slow  fading  of  the  light  and  the  grada- 
tion of  the  colour  from  amber  to  purple  and  grey. 
Some  one  began  to  talk  about  the  long  twilight 
of  midsummer,  and  mentioned  the  well-known  fact 
that  it  lasts  till  dawn.  Then  an  argument  arose 
about  the  length  of  twilight  in  different  seasons  of 
the  year.  All  were  agreed  that  it  lasts  longest  at 
midsummer,  but  opinions  differed  as  to  whether  it  is 
shortest  at  midwinter  or  at  the  equinoxes.  I  have 
since  tried  to  inform  myself  a  little  on  this  point. 

The  duration  of  twilight  can  only  be  stated  precisely 
when  a  somewhat  arbitrary  assumption  is  made. 
Twilight  is  light  received  only  by  reflection  from 
particles,  solid  or  liquid,  which  float  in  the  air.  Hence 
it  varies  according  to  the  state  of  the  sky.  In  high 
alpine  regions  there  may  be  no  twilight,  although  the 
sun  is  only  a  little  way  below  the  horizon.  But  under 
favourable  atmospheric  conditions  twilight  lasts  till 
the  sun  has  sunk  18°  below  the  horizon.  How  long 


SUMMER  TWILIGHT  141 

after  sunset  will  it  be  before  the  sun  sinks  so  low,  and 
how  will  the  season  of  the  year  affect  the  time  ? 

Draw  a  circle  to  represent  the  apparent  path  of  the 
sun  in  the  heavens,  and  draw  chords  in  the  circle  to 
represent  the  horizon  on  particular  days.  In  summer 
the  chord  will  be  low  down,  and  the  diurnal  path 
will  be  greater  than  the  nocturnal.  In  winter  the 
chord  will  be  high  up,  and  the  nocturnal  path  greater 
than  the  diurnal. 

Parallel  to  each  chord,  and  beneath  it,  draw  a  line, 
to  represent  the  limit  of  twilight.  The  arc  inter- 
cepted between  the  two  lines  will  measure  the  duration 
of  twilight.  It  will  be  seen  that  the  arc  intercepted 
will  be  shorter,  the  nearer  the  two  lines  approach  the 
equator  of  the  circle,  shortest  of  all  when  one  is  as 
much  above  the  equator  as  the  other  is  below  it. 
That  position  will  occur  twice  in  the  year,  a  little 
before  the  vernal  equinox,  and  a  little  after  the 
autumnal  equinox.  At  the  equinox  itself  the  horizon 
will  coincide  with  the  equator  of  the  circle,  and  the 
limit  of  twilight  will  be  1 8°  below  it.  As  we  approach 
the  solstices  the  intercepted  arc  will  increase  in  length, 
but  as  the  limit  of  twilight  is  always  below  the  horizon, 
it  will  come  nearer  to  the  equator  at  the  winter  than 
at  the  summer  solstice.  The  maximum  for  the  year 
will  be  at  midsummer.  In  London  twilight  never 
ends  between  May  22  and  July  21.  There  is  a  second 
maximum  in  midwinter,  when  twilight  lasts  about  2 
hrs.  10  min.  The  minima  fall  about  February  28  and 
October  12,  when  twilight  lasts  only  about  I  hr.  50 
min. 


1 42  ROUND  THE  YEAR 


MIDSUMMER  BLOOMS. 

One  of  the  glories  of  the  summer  is  the  abundance 
of  white  flowers,  not  merely  scattered  about  the  lawns 
and  hedges  like  stars,  but  clustered  into  sheets  and 
masses.  Hawthorn,  Elder,  Meadow-sweet,  the  great 
Umbellifers,  Apple,  Pear,  Bird-cherry,  Mountain  Ash, 
Horse  Chestnut  and  Guelder  Rose  are  familiar 
instances.  The  spectacle  opens  in  May,  and  ends  in 
August  with  the  great  Wood  Campanulas.  As  the 
autumnal  equinox  draws  near,  the  twilight  is  too 
short  and  the  nocturnal  Insects  too  few  for  flowers  of 
this  particular  kind. 

It  seems  probable  on  a  first  consideration  of  the 
question  that  these  expanses  of  white  flowers, 
glimmering  in  the  twilight  of  the  short  night  of 
Midsummer,  are  lures  to  night-flying  Insects.  Some 
of  them  offer  fragrance  as  well  as  contrast  of  colour, 
and  the  fragrance  is  often  more  powerful  by  night. 
But  when  we  come  to  note  what  Insects  have  been 
actually  seen  to  visit  the  great  white  blooms,  we  shall 
find  that  some  of  them  are  visited  only  in  the  day- 
time, and  by  various  kinds  of  Flies.  The  Umbelliferae 
are  adapted  for  fertilisation  by  Flies,  and  their  odours, 
often  disagreeable  and  rank  to  our  taste,  seem  to  be 
well  suited  to  the  appetite  of  Flies.  The  night- 
haunted  blooms  on  the  other  hand  are  largely  visited 
by  Moths,  and  belong  more  particularly  to  the  season 
when  Moths  are  plentiful.  Moths,  it  would -seem, 
enjoy  the  same  odours  as  ourselves,  for  many  of  the 
perfumes  which  attract  Moths  delight  mankind  also. 


HAY-TIME  143 

Midsummer  is  not  however  reserved  for  any  one 
kind  of  Insect,  or  any  one  kind  of  flower.  It  is  the 
very  height  of  the  flowering  season,  when  the  pro- 
fusion, though  not  the  variety,  of  flowers  is  greatest. 
Then  all  sorts  of  flowers  have  a  good  chance,  the 
wind-fertilised  Grasses,  the  Insect-fertilised  Le- 
guminosae,  the  flowers  which  trust  to  colour,  or 
perfume,  or  sweet  taste— all  are  copiously  represented 
in  June  and  July.  Some  few  indeed  have  hurried  on 
their  blooms  to  open  in  spring,  or  kept  them  back  for 
autumn,  as  if  for  this  small  minority  it  were  better  to 
be  out  of  season  than  to  compete  with  the  throng. 
Many  bulbs,  which  can  store  up  food  when  the  days 
are  long,  expend  part  of  it  in  flowering  early  or  late 
in  the  year.  Catkin-bearing  trees  flower  so  early 
because  the  wind  can  then  carry  the  pollen  to  the 
stigmas  through  bare  boughs  instead  of  through 
leaves,  which  would  inevitably  detain  and  waste  a 
great  part  of  that  small  proportion  which  actually 
reaches  the  tree. 

The  botanist  finds  most  occupation  in  July  and 
August,  but  the  great  spectacle,  when  the  woods  and 
meadows  and  heaths  are  full  of  bloom,  comes  earlier, 
and  is  at  its  best  on  Midsummer  Day. 


HAY-TIME. 

It  is  July,  and  in  the  north  of  England  the 
meadows  are  almost  ready  for  the  scythe.  The  flat 
fields  along  the  river  look  brown,  as  if  scorched  by 
the  sun,  but  it  is  only  the  dull-coloured  panicles  of  the 


I44  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

flowering  Grasses  which  deaden  their  tints.  I  can 
see  from  my  window  one  patch  of  emerald  green  in 
the  sea  of  brown  ;  it  is  a  field  which  has  just  been 
cut  and  cleared. 

Grass-pollen  floats  everywhere  in  the  air.  I  find  it 
on  my  microscopic  slides,  and  sufferers  from  hay-fever 
find  it  to  their  sorrow  in  their  nostrils.  Dr.  Blackley, 
when  prosecuting  his  ingenious  researches  into  the 
cause  of  hay-fever,  found  grass-pollen  at  considerable 
heights  in  the  air.  He  raised  two  and  even  three  kites, 
one  above  another,  the  lower  holding  the  string  of  the 
one  beyond  it,  and  so  was  able  to  expose  slips 
smeared  with  glycerine  at  elevations  of  several 
hundred  feet.  The  spread  of  grass-pollen  to  great 
heights  in  the  air,  and  its  penetration  to  the  recesses 
of  our  houses  give  proof  of  the  extreme  lightness 
and  profusion  of  the  grains.  While  almost  every 
stigma  becomes  fertilised,  innumerable  grains  are 
wasted.  Insect-fertilised  flowers  waste  little  pollen, 
but  they  have  to  maintain  an  elaborate  machinery  to 
secure  this  advantage. 

A  friendly  correspondent,  Mr.  B.  Holgate  of  Leeds, 
tells  me  of  the  curious  spectacle  that  may  often  be 
observed  when  a  field  of  hay  is  cut.  The  wild 
animals  which  lurked  in  the  long  grass  are  driven 
towards  the  centre  as  the  scythe  or  mowing  machine 
works  round  the  field  from  the  outside.  Rabbits, 
Field-mice,  and  now  and  then  a  Weasel  or  a  Hare 
may  be  imprisoned  in  the  ever-narrowing  patch  of 
uncut  grass.  In  the  hay  field  Hares  are  seldorrrcaught 
in  this  way,  but  when  a  cornfield  is  reaped,  they  are 
often  unable  to  escape.  The  noise  of  the  reaper 


HAY-TIME  145 

terrifies  them  to  such  a  point  that  they  will  lie  down 
and  submit  to  be  knocked  on  the  head.  Smaller 
animals  are  often  cut  to  pieces  by  the  machine.  When 
only  a  few  square  yards  remain  to  be  cut,  the 
labourers  arm  themselves  with  sticks,  and  watch  for 
anything  that  runs  out.  A  good  dinner  is  often  got 
in  this  way,  but  among  the  miscellaneous  collection 
of  animals  killed  are  many  that  no  one  would  eat.1 

Grasses,  as  every  farmer  knows,  are  of  many  species, 
and  every  field  contains  a  mixture  of  several  kinds. 
A  few,  among  which  are  our  chief  cereals,  are  annual, 
the  majority  perennial.  When  a  perennial  grass, 
sprung  from  seed,  has  once  established  its  rootstock, 
sent  its  roots  downwards  into  the  earth  and  expanded 
its  leaves,  runners  are  pushed  out,  which  travel  on  or 
beneath  the  surface  of  the  ground,  sometimes  to  a 
distance  of  several  feet,  rooting  at  intervals  and 
forming  fresh  tufts  of  leaves.  The  runners  are  solid, 
and  often  sheathed  in  scales,  which  are  really  a  kind 
of  leaves.  Runners  which  lie  on  the  ground  are 
green,  but  the  subterranean  ones  are  blanched. 

I  have  lately  gained  a  practical  knowledge  of  the 
runners  of  one  particular  Grass,  Holcus  mollis,  which 
is,  I  am  told,  known  to  farmers  as  the  Yorkshire  Fog. 
Our  tennis-lawn  was  sown  last  year  with  fine  grasses, 
but  in  the  old  sods  which  formed  part  of  the  soil 
were  many  bits  of  Yorkshire  Fog,  which  soon  began 
to  show  themselves  above  ground.  Every  one  must 
know  this  grass  by  sight,  if  not  by  name.  It  has 

1  A  graphic  account  of  the  disturbance  of  wild  creatures  by 
the  mowing  of  the  grass  is  given  by  Cornish  in  Wild  England 
of  To-day,?.  243(1895). 

L 


146 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


broad,  soft,  pale-green  leaves,  and  large  panicles  of 
whitish  or  pale  purple  flowers.  Cattle  dislike  it,  and 
it  is  often  left  quite  undisturbed  in  a  pasture,  forming 
coarse  tussocks,  or  even  covering  large  spaces  to  the 
exclusion  of  more  profitable  species. 

Of  course  the  Yorkshire  Fosr  cannot  be  tolerated  in 


FIG.  46. — Creeping  root-stock  of  Yorkshire  Fog.     (Holcus  mollis,) 

a  tennis-lawn,  and  I  set  to  work  to  extirpate  it.  This 
I  did  with  great  labour  because  of  the  runners,  white, 
horizontal  stems,  spreading  through  the  earth  an  inch 
or  two  beneath  the  surface.  The  runners  branch, 
root  themselves  at  frequent  intervals,  and  continually 
send  up  bunches  of  leaves.  Bits  of  the  runners  are 


HAY-TIME  147 

easily  left  behind,  and  these  sprout  again,  so  that 
v/hoever  undertakes  to  eradicate  Yorkshire  Fog,  when 
once  it  is  fairly  established,  has  his  work  cut  out  for 
him.  There  is  another  very  common  Holcus  (//". 
lanatus)  which  is  downy,  and  sends  out  no  runners. 

The  rootstock  is  the  true  stem  of  the  grass,  and 
the  runners  are  its  branches  ;  it  is  these  which  bear 
the  buds.  In  summer  the  grass  sends  up  flowering 
branches,  which  are  often  called  stems  too,  but  as 
these  are  quite  different  from  the  true  stem,  we  want 
another  name  for  them.  Let  us  call  them  haulms ; 
the  straw  of  Wheat,  Oats  and  Barley  is  made  up  of 
these  haulms,  together  with  their  leaves  and  flowers. 

The  full-grown  haulm  is  built  up  of  lengths  of 
hollow,  cylindrical  stalk,  with  knots  at  the  junctions. 
At  each  knot  is  a  plate  of  tissue  which  interrupts  the 
cavity,  and  from  the  same  place  springs  a  leaf,  which 
passes  up  the  haulm  about  as  far  as  to  the  knot  next 
above,  clasping  it  close  all  the  way.  This  leaf-sheath 
ends  in  a  blade,  which  is  usually  long,  flat,  and 
pointed.  The  sheath  is  very  often  split  all  along  one 
side,  the  side  opposite  to  the  blade,  but  in  some  of  our 
common  grasses  the  sheath  is  entire,  like  the  barrel  of 
a  quill.  The  leaves  stand  alternately  on  opposite  sides 
of  the  haulm.  At  the  base  of  the  sheath  is  a  leaf- 
knot,  which  is  sometimes  quite  distinct  from  the  knot 
of  the  haulm  itself.  Where  the  sheath  and  blade  of 
the  leaf  meet  is  a  transparent  scale,  the  ligule,  which 
ascends  for  a  short  distance  in  close  contact  with  the 
haulm.  It  has  been  conjectured  that  the  ligule 
prevents  rain-water  from  making  its  way  into  the 
cleft  between  the  sheaf  and  the  haulm.  I  am  not  at 

L    2 


i48 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


all  sure  that  this  is  the  real   purpose  of  the  ligule 
water  does  not  easily  enter  a  narrow,  air-filled  space. 


FIG.  47. — Haulm  of   Oat.     a,    base   of   haulm,   showing   knots    and    leaf-sheaths,; 
/',  roots  of  ditto  piercing  the  leaf-sheaths  ;  c,  section  through  a  knot  andjeaf-sheath. 

When  the  haulm  is  young,  it  is  solid,  and  com- 
pletely filled  by  soft    cellular  tissue.      The  sections 


HAY-TIME  149 

between  the  knots  are  at  this  time  very  short,  and  at 
first  the  leaves  and  their  sheaths  grow  faster  than  the 
sections  of  the  haulms,  so  that  they  greatly  exceed 
them  in  length.  One  result  is  that  the  sheaths  over- 
lap, and  a  cut  across  a  young  haulm  may  show  several 
sheaths,  one  inside  another.  The  leaves  borne  on  the 
haulm  are  profitable  to  the  plant  in  the  early  season, 
and  they  attain  a  fair  length  in  April  or  May,  but  the 
haulm  itself  is  then  quite  short.  It  does  not  rise  to 
any  considerable  height  until  the  flowering-time  is 
close  at  hand.  Till  then  unusual  height  would  bring 
with  it  the  risk  of  laying  by  the  wind  and  rain,  and 
no  corresponding  advantage. 

But  when  the  flowers  are  ready  to  open  it  is 
necessary  that  they  should  clear  the  low  herbage. 
The  pollen,  and  a  little  later  the  seeds,  have  to  be 
dispersed,  and  this  is  best  effected  when  they  are 
carried  on  tall,  elastic  stalks  which  dance  in  the  wind. 
The  haulm,  which  was  short  and  succulent,  now 
rapidly  expands,  shooting  upwards  and  enlarging  in 
diameter  at  the  same  time.  A  haulm  of  a  certain 
grass,  Festuca  elatior,  which  I  measured  from  day  to 
day,  lengthened  two  inches  in  twenty-four  hours 
during  part  of  the  time.  The  growth  is  so  rapid  that 
the  cellular  tissue  in  the  interior  tears  open,  and  the 
haulm  becomes  hollow.  There  is  comparatively  little 
increase  of  weight,  chiefly  expansion  and  hardening 
of  tissues  already  formed.  The  sections  of  the  haulm 
increase  in  length  till  they  equal  or  a  little  exceed  the 
leaf-sheaths,  and  these,  which  were  telescoped  one 
within  another,  now  become  drawn  out.  It  is  not 
uncommon  to  find  the  terminal  joint  very  much  pro- 


T5o  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

longed,  and  then  it  stands  up  as  a  slender  wiry  stem, 
clear  of  all  the  leaves,  and  loaded  at  the  summit  with 
spikelets  of  flowers.  The  sudden  expansion  of  the 
haulm  is  possibly  the  chief  reason  for  the  split  leaf- 
sheath.  The  sedges,  in  which  the  haulm  expands  and 
ascends  more  slowly  (the  solid  pith  is  one  proof  of 
this),  have  the  leaf-sheaths  closed.  In  some  small  and 
slender  grasses,  where  the  haulm  never  shoots  up  to 
any  considerable  height,  the  sheath  is  closed  ;  so  it  is 
in  the  Cock's-foot  grass,  where  the  haulm  dilates  only 
slightly,  and  remains  nearly  solid,  though  here  the 
swelling  of  the  bulky  spikelets  tears  open  the  upper 
leaf-sheaths. 

Each  section  increases  in  length  by  growth  at  its 
base,  and  the  young  and  tender  tissues  above  the 
knots  probably  derive  support  from  the  leaf-sheath 
which  wraps  them  round. 

The  knots  bind  the  fibres  closely  together.  They 
also  stiffen  the  haulm  by  forming  a  diaphragm  or  floor 
across  the  tube.  Some  authors  have  doubted  whether 
the  mechanical  function  of  the  knot  in  stiffening  the 
tube  is  of  practical  importance,  but  after  examin- 
ing a  number  of  common  grasses  with  special 
reference  to  this  question,  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
saying  that  the  knots  do  materially  stiffen  the  haulm. 
They  also  discharge  a  very  definite  and  useful  function 
of  another  kind.  They  remain  capable  of  absorbing 
water  from  the  surrounding  tissues,  and  of  swelling  in 
consequence.  In  the  uppermost  part  of  the  haulmv 
which  is  erect,  the  swelling  could  produce  no"  useful 
effect,  and  here  there  are  no  knots  except  where  the 
flower-stalks  are  given  off.  But  at  the  base 


HAY-TIME  151 

of  the  haulm  the  knots  become  crowded.  Here 
the  unequal  turgidity  l  of  the  cellular  tissue  can  be 
turned  to  good  account.  That  side  which  comes  next 
to  the  ground  swells,  while  the  opposite  side  becomes 
compressed  or  even  folded.  When  a  haulm  has  been 
pushed  out  sideways  from  the  rootstock  it  is  the  unequal 
turgidity  of  the  knots  which  causes  it  to  curve 
upwards  and  take  an  erect  position.  After  a  storm  of 
rain  and  wind  has  laid  the  long  stalks,  the  turgidity  of 
one  side  of  the  knots  (always  that  side  which  comes 
next  to  the  ground)  erects  it  once  more.  The 
deflection  capable  of  being  produced  by  a  single  knot 
is  only  moderate,  but  as  the  knots  are  crowded  together 
at  the  base  of  the  haulm,  a  considerable  aggregate  effect 
can  be  brought  about.  Inclination  through  an  angle  of 
ninety  degrees  can  be  caused  by  the  unequal  turgidity 
of  three  or  four  knots. 

Thickenings  containing  tissue  whose  turgidity  can 
be  regulated  are  found  also  at  the  points  where  the 
inflorescence  of  a  grass  branches.  It  is  by  means  of 
such  organs  that  the  lateral  stalks,  the  flowers,  and 
even  the  bracts  of  the  flowers,  change  their  posture  as 
required.  In  the  bud  all  the  flower-stalks  are  limp 
and  collapsed,  but  when  the  flowers  ripen  the  stalks 
take  up  the  most  favourable  position,  often  at  right 
angles  to  the  haulm.  Turgidity,  or  the  want  of  it, 
regulates  the  exact  place  and  attitude  of  every  mem- 
ber of  a  highly  complex  inflorescence. 

Additional  roots  are  often  emitted  from  the  lower 
knots  of  a  grass-haulm.  They  push  out  through  the 
leaf-sheath,  which  is  ruptured  to  give  them  passage. 
1  Turgidity  is  distension  of  the  tissues  by  water. 


i52  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

In  some  large  grasses,  such  as  cereals,  these  additional 
or  adventitious  roots  can  be  seen  at  times  to  issue 
from  a  knot  two  or  three  inches  above  the  ground. 
They  serve  not  only  as  channels  for  the  supply  of 
nourishment,  but  as  stays,  like  the  stout  wires  which 
are  employed  to  secure  a  telegraph-pole. 

I  have  said  that  the  diaphragms  probably  increase 
the  rigidity  of  the  haulm  ;  in  the  great  haulms  of  a 
Bamboo  they  certainly  do  stiffen  and  strengthen  the 
tube  to  a  notable  extent,  but  here  they  are  of  particu- 
larly firm  texture.  An  excellent  model  of  the  grass- 
haulm  can  be  made  by  procuring  one  of  the  Bamboo 
rods  now  sold  in  the  shops  for  fishing-rods  and 
curtain-poles,  and  sawing  it  in  half  along  its  length.  If 
a  piece  of  Bamboo  is  knocked  to  bits  against  a  stone, 
some  notion  may  be  got  of  its  great  strength,  and  of 
the  way  in  which  the  diaphragms  prevent  splitting  and 
crushing.  The  Bamboo  is  a  true  grass,  and  in  all 
essentials  of  structure  reproduces  on  a  large  scale  the 
features  of  our  small  native  grasses. 

If  we  try  to  cut  a  piece  of  Bamboo  with  a  knife  we 
are  reminded  of  another  peculiarity  of  the  grasses. 
The  Bamboo  cuts  very  badly,  with  a  harsh  gritty  feel, 
and  quickly  blunts  the  knife.  The  hard,  glossy  surface 
is  particularly  unpleasant  to  cut,  as  well  may  be, 
seeing  that  it  is  largely  composed  of  flint.  The  glossy 
surface  of  a  Wheat-straw  contains  much  flint  too,  and 
in  various  degrees  all  grasses  and  almost  all  parts  of 
them  are  flinty.  By  very  cautious  charring,  or  by 
removal  of  the  organic  matter  in  other  ways,  it  is 
possible  to  get  small  pieces  of  grass  which  show  the 
flinty  particles  under  the  microscope.  They  some- 


HAY-TIME  153 

times  form  a  uniform  sheet,  or  in  other  cases  rows  of 
minute  beads.  The  flinty  covering  prevents  the 
penetration  of  moisture,  gives  additional  rigidity,  and 
perhaps  defends  the  plant  against  the  attacks  of 
certain  animals.  Some  grasses  are  so  effectually 
protected  that  they  are  hardly  ever  eaten,  but  in  other 
cases  the  softer  tissues  especially  are  eaten  out  by 
small,  burrowing  Insect-larvae.  Browsing  cattle  dis- 
regard such  trifles  as  a  microscopic  layer  of  flint, 
but  even  browsing  cattle  can  be  kept  off  by  the 
defences  of  certain  common  grasses.  Nothing  per- 
haps is  more  effectual  than  a  close  covering  of  fine 
hairs  on  the  leaves  and  leaf-sheaths.  These  prevent 
easy  wetting,  and  the  leaves  become  unpleasant  to 
chew.  One  reason  why  Holcus  is  avoided  by  cattle 
is  apparently  that  its  leaves  are  hairy. 

How  the  grass-haulm  is  adapted  to  endure  the 
wind,  how  its  proportions  secure  adequate  strength 
without  waste  of  material,  and  how  it  comes  to  possess 
such  elastic  stability  that  it  sways  beneath  a  light 
breeze  and  yet  is  not  prostrated  by  the  storm,  are 
questions  whose  complete  solution  would  I  believe 
exceed  the  powers  of  any  mechanician.  And  the 
problem  might  be  further  complicated  to  any  extent 
by  taking  into  account  the  varying  proportions  of 
different  haulms,  the  varying  loads  which  they  have 
to  carry,  and  the  minute  structure  of  the  hollow  stalk, 
which  is  far  from  homogeneous.  Nature,  working  by 
endless  experiments,  gives  us  a  number  ,of  practical 
solutions  of  questions  which  have  actually  come  up  for 
settlement.  She  invites  us  to  recover  the  question  from 
the  answer,  and  to  compare  the  practical  with  the 


i54  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

theoretical  solution.  I  do  not  venture  to  accept  the 
challenge,  but  shall  merely  look  about  to  see  whether 
some  particular  cases,  artificially  simplified  by  assump- 
tions, can  be  illustrated  by  known  results  of  calculation 
and  experiment 

A  joint  of  the  grass-haulm  is  usually  a  hollow 
cylinder.  What  is  the  advantage  derived  from  this 
form  ?  A  column  of  circular  section  is  particularly 
appropriate  to  a  structure  which  has  to  resist  pressure 
from  all  sides.  Such  a  column  may  be  either  a  solid 
or  a  hollow  cylinder.  Of  these  two  the  hollow  cylinder 
is  clearly  the  stronger  for  a  given  sectional  area.  This 
becomes  evident  when  we  consider  what  will  happen 
during  bending.  One  side  (the  convex  side)  will  be 
stretched  ;  the  opposite  side  will  be  compressed, 
and  between  the  two  there  will  be  a  neutral  line, 
where  there  is  neither  extension  nor  compression. 
Material  lying  close  to  the  neutral  line  would  be  less 
useful,  and  would  stiffen  the  cylinder  more  if  it 
were  removed  and  disposed  uniformly  on  the  outside 
of  the  rod  where  the  extension  and  compression  are 
greatest.  A  hollow  cylinder  is  inevitably  stronger  to 
resist  bending  than  a  solid  cylinder  of  the  same  weight 
per  foot  run. 

The  joints  of  the  haulm  get  narrower  in  regular 
succession  upwards,  the  long  joint  which  carries  the 
spikelets  being  conical  and  usually  very  slender. 
This  is  attended  with  various  advantages.  The 
moment  of  the  load  varies  with  the  distance,  and 
is  least  at  the  summit  of  the  stalk.  Hence  economy 
of  material  is  obtained  by  a  reduction  of  thickness  at 
that  point.  The  surface  exposed  to  wind  is  reduced 


HAY-TIME  155 

where  the  wind  would  act  most  violently.  The  centre 
of  gravity  is  brought  nearer  to  the  ground.  The 
haulm  is  stiffest  where  the  overturning  moment  is 
greatest,  most  flexible  where  the  spikelets  are  situ- 
ated. It  is  important  to  many  grasses  for  the  dis- 
persal of  their  pollen  and  seeds  that  the  spikelets 
should  dance  in  the  wind. 

The  diaphragms  of  the  haulm  have,  as  we  noticed, 
some  effect  in  stiffening  the  structure.  When  a 
hollow  cylinder  is  bent,  the  opposite  surfaces  tend  to 
approach  the  neutral  line,  and  the  cross-section 
becomes  elliptical.  Whatever  resists  that  change  of 
shape,  such  as  a  solid  floor,  will  oppose  bending. 
The  diaphragms  are  most  crowded  where  excessive 
bending  would  be  most  injurious,  i.e.,  near  the  ground, 
It  is  probable  that  the  diaphragms  offer  no  appre- 
ciable resistance  to  moderate  bending. 

The  mechanics  of  a  long  bone  cannot  be  treated  with- 
out raising  some  of  the  same  questions.  This  subject 
has  already  been  handled  by  Dr.  Donald  Macalister 
in  a  lecture  which  is  peculiarly  interesting  and  at  the 
same  time  perfectly  simple.  I  should  merely  refer 
the  reader  to  his  article  in  the  English  Illustrated 
Magazine^  if  it  were  not  that  every  reader  has  not 
ready  access  to  the  old  volumes  of  a  periodical. 

Dr.  Macalister  points  out  that  the  tubular  form  of 
a  long  bone,  such  as  the  human  thigh-bone,  fits  it  to 
resist  either  a  breaking  or  a  crushing  stress.  A  solid 
cylinder  of  the  same  mass  would  be  weaker  than  the 
hollow  cylinder.  If  the  solid  cylinder  had  a  diameter 
of  100  units,  and  the  hollow  cylinder  an  external 
1  1883-4,  p.  640. 


156  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

diameter  of  125,  with  an  internal  diameter  of  75,  the 
area  of  cross-section  would  be  the  same  in  both  cases. 
But  the  hollow  cylinder  would  have  a  power  to  resist 
breaking  greater  than  that  of  the  solid  cylinder  in 
the  proportion  of  17  to  10,  while  its  resistance  to 
crushing  would  be  more  than  twice  as  great.  The 
strongest  tube  is  one  whose  external  and  internal 
diameters  bear  the  proportion  of  1 1  to  5. 

Dr.  Macalister  shows  that  the  cancellous  or  lattice- 
work arrangement  of  the  internal  laminae  of  bones 
coincides  with  the  lines  of  pressure  and  tension. 
Hence  the  bone  is  strengthened  precisely  where 
strength  is  most  needed,  and  the  stresses  are  dis- 
tributed. The  bony  substance  is  placed  along  the 
curved  pressure-lines  and  also  along  the  curved 
tension-lines,  which  intersect  the  first  at  right  angles. 
But  the  intervening  neutral  spaces,  where  there  is 
little  or  no  thrust  or  pull,  are  left  unoccupied,  thus 
economising  material  and  diminishing  weight  as  far 
as  possible. 

In  some  animals  whose  weight  is  "  taken  off"  by 
the  water  in  which  they  live,  increased  weight  of  the 
body  is  less  disadvantageous,  and  economy  of  sub- 
stance may  be  disregarded  for  the  sake  of  additional 
strength.  The  bones  of  a  Crocodile  are  solid,  and 
composed  almost  to  the  core  of  a  dense,  ivory-like 
substance.  In  a  land-quadruped  wreight  must  be 
more  carefully  considered,  and  the  long  bones  are 
largely  excavated,  the  spaces  being  to  a  great  extent 
occupied  by  marrow.  In  a  flying  Vertebrate  strength 
and  lightness  are  combined  with  still  greater  nicety 
of  calculation.  The  wall  of  the  shaft  is  reduced  to  a 


HAY-TIME  157 

thin  shell,  the  cancellous  tissue  is  scanty  and  large- 
meshed,  and  the  cavities  are  rilled  with  air  instead  of 
marrow. 

The  limbs  of  many  Crustacea  and  Insects  illustrate 
in  their  way  the  advantages  of  the  tubular  principle. 
But  the  best  example  of  the  strength  and  lightness 
yielded  by  the  tubular  structures  of  animals  is 
furnished  by  the  hollow  quill  of  a  Bird's  feather. 

The  leaves  of  grasses  are  full  of  curious  contrivances, 
some  of  which  are  described  and  figured  by  Kerner  in 
his  Pflanzenleben  (Natural  History  of  Plants). 

The  flowers  are  expressly  adapted  to  wind-fertili- 
sation. Notice  the  absence  of  striking  colour,  scent 
or  Jioney,  the  abundance  of  the  pollen,  the  lightly 
poised  anthers,  and  the  feathery  stigmas. 

When  the  fruits  ripen  and  fall  off,  there  fall  off  with 
them  certain  of  the  enclosing  husks.  It  is  only  in 
some  cultivated  cereals  that  the  artificially  enlarged 
grain  can  be  readily  detached  from  its  envelopes.  It 
is  not  uncommon  to  find  the  flower-stalks  jointed,  so 
that  they  readily  break  away  from  the  haulm.  The 
husks  serve  to  protect  the  grain  from  spoiling  by  rain 
or  drought,  and  in  some  cases  aid  in  dispersal  by 
greatly  increasing  the  surface  exposed  to  wind.  My 
old  enemy,  the  Yorkshire  Fog,  enjoys  great  facilities 
for  dispersal  by  wind,  and  I  find  it  springing  up 
in  the  most  unlikely  corners  of  the  garden.  In  the 
Reeds  of  the  fenlands  some  of  the  inner  husks  are 
fringed  with  long,  silky  hairs,  which  act  like  the  hairs 
on  the  seeds  of  Willow,  wafting  the  grain  to  long 
distances.  Some  grasses  have  awns  attached  to  the 
husk,  which  catch  in  the  fleece  or  fur  of  animals.  In 


158  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Feather-grass  the  extremely  long  and  feathered  awn 
twists  when  dry,  and  untwists  again  when  wetted, 
thus  screwing  the  pointed  fruit  into  the  earth,  the 
long  awn,  entangled  in  the  herbage,  furnishing  a 
fixed  point  to  push  against. 

Small  as  it  usually  is,  the  grass-fruit  carries  with  it 
a  little  store  of  starchy  food  and  a  minute  quantity  of 
a  ferment,  which,  under  suitable  conditions  of 
moisture  and  temperature,  dissolves  the  starch, 
and  renders  it  fit  for  assimilation  by  the  embryo 
plant. 

A  meadow  ripe  for  the  scythe  calls  up  before  me  the 
endless  contrivances  by  which  the  grasses  have  won 
such  mastery  in  the  struggle  for  the  surface  of  the 
earth.  But  what  different  thoughts  the  same  sight 
may  suggest  to  other  minds !  Andrew  Marvell, 
walking  behind  the  mowers  at  Nun  Appleton,  was 
chiefly  struck  by  their  resemblance  to  the  Israelites 
passing  through  the  Red  Sea ! 

"  Who  seem  like  Israelites  to  be 
Walking  on  foot  through  a  green  sea, 
To  them  the  grassy  deeps  divide, 
And  crowd  a  lane  to  either  side." 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTER- 
FLIES. 

When  I  came  to  live  in  the  country  I  naturally 
began  to  grow  cabbages.  One  result  has  Been  that 
I  have  great  facilities  for  the  study  of  Cabbage 
Whites.  In  May  I  find  the  eggs  on  the  leaves  ;  the 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES 


159 


eggs  hatch  out  and  produce  caterpillars,  which  are 
too  plentiful  for  any  but  naturalists  during  a  great 
part  of  the  summer.  The  caterpillars  turn  to  yellow 
pupae,  spotted  with  black,  which  are  found  on  the 


FIG.  48.— Large  Cabbage  White  Butterfly  ;  the  female  above,  the  male  below. 


trees,  walls  and  palings  around  the  cabbage-plot ; 
and  from  these  pupae  issue  white  butterflies,  such  as  I 
used  to  chase  across  the  summer  fields  in  my  school- 
boy days. 

When  we  look  closely  at  the   White    Butterflies, 


i6o 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


which  are  reared  in  our  kitchen  garden,  we  find  that 
they  belong  to  three  different  species,  of  different 
sizes,  and  with  rather  different  markings.  These  are 
distinguished  as  the  Large,  the  Small  and  the  Green- 
veined  Cabbage  Butterfly.  If  you  find  any  common 
Cabbage  Butterfly  and  wish  to  identify  it,  you  may 
find  it  convenient  to  use  this  table  of  characters. 


Size  across 

expanded          Fore  Wings. 

Hind  Wings. 

Larva. 

Wings. 

Large 

2\  in. 

Male.       Black 

A  black  spot. 

Yellow, 

Cabbage 

at  the  tip  ;  no 

spotted  with 

White. 

spot. 

black. 

Female.  Black 

at  the  tip  ;  two 

black  spots  and 

a  dash. 

Small 

2  in. 

Male.     Black- 

A black  spot. 

Green, 

Cabbage 

ish  at  the  tip  ; 

spotted  with 

White. 

no   spot   or    a 

black       and 

blackish  spot. 

yellow. 

Female.  Black- 

ish at  the  tip, 

two  black  spots 

and     a     faint 

dash. 

Green  - 

i£  to 

Blackish  at  the 

Male.  A  black 

Green, 

veined 
Cabbage 

nearly  2 
inches. 

tip  ;  one  black 
spot. 

spot  or  none. 
Female.          A 

spiracles  red, 
on       yellow 

White. 

black        spot. 

spots. 

Under        side 

with    greenish 

veins   in    both 

sexes. 

The  larvae  feed  upon  Cabbages  and  allied  plants 
(Cruciferae).      The  (Small    and   green-veined   species 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES 


161 


feed  also  on  Mignonette  and  Tropaeolum.  There  are 
two  and  sometimes  three  broods  in  the  year.  Eggs 
laid  in  the  end  of  summer  yield  larvae  which  pupate 
in  autumn,  and  after  hibernating  emerge  as  Butterflies 
in  spring.  The  Butterflies  lay  eggs,  and  the  issuing 
summer-larvae  pupate  about  midsummer.  In  an 
early  season  the  broods  are  hastened  a  little,  and  the 


FIG.  49. — Small  Cabbage  White  ;  the  female  above,  the  male  below. 

autumn  brood  is  the  third  and  not  the  second  of  the 
year.  From  April  to  September  there  are  few  weeks 
in  which  the  Butterflies  cannot  be  seen,  and  successive 
generations  of  caterpillars  are  busy  feeding  during 
most  of  the  summer. 

The  eggs  of  the  Large  Cabbage  White  are  laid  in 
patches  on  the  underside  of  the  leaves,  and  are  small 

M 


1 62  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

yellow  objects.  Keen  eyes  will  now  and  then  detect 
he  eggs  (hard  boiled)  on  cooked  cabbage  leaves.  If 
you  capture  a  female  Butterfly,  she  will  probably  lay 
eggs  for  you,  but  the  best  way  of  securing  a  supply  of 
eggs  is  to  watch  a  female  Butterfly  as  she  haunts  the 


FIG.  50.— Green- veined  Cabbage  White  ;  the  male  above,  the  female  below.     In  the 
lower  figure  the  under  side  of  the  wings  are  shown  on  the  right. 

Cabbages.  When  she  rests  for  awhile  among  the 
leaves,  mark  the  place.  After  she  has  flown  away, 
you  will  often  find  that  she  has  left  a  hundred  eggs 
or  so  on  a  leaf.  The  small  Cabbage  White  lays  her 
eggs  singly. 

Why  are  the  eggs  laid  on  the  underside,  of  the  leaf? 
Perhaps  to  protect  them  from  sun  and  rain  ;  perhaps 
to  keep  them,  or  the  larvae  which  issue  from  them,  out 
of  sight  of  greedy  animals,  The  female  Butterfly  is 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  163 

not  very  scrupulous  about  the  position  of  the  eggs, 
and  will  sometimes  lay  them  on  the  upper  surface  of 
the  leaf. 

The  eggs,  when  examined  by  a  lens,  are  seen  to  be 
enclosed  within  a  flask-shaped  cell,  on  which  is  a 
delicate  relief  pattern.  The  egg-shell  is  quite  im- 
pervious to  liquids.  I  once  wished  to  mount  a  number 
for  microscopic  examination.  Knowing  that  the 
larvae,  if  not  killed,  would  by  and  by  emerge  and 
break  the  shell,  I  resolved  to  soak  the  eggs  in  strong 
alcohol  for  some  days.  This  was  done,  and  then  the 
eggs  were  cemented  upon  a  glass  slip.  But  they 
hatched  out  all  the  same,  and  all  the  egg-shells  were 
destroyed.  Plunging  the  eggs  into  boiling  water  is  a 
better  expedient. 

In  ten  days  or  less  the  caterpillars  hatch  out.  They 
have  the  outward  form  usual  in  Lepidoptera.  There 
is  a  dark-coloured  horny  head  bearing  the  jaws  (chief 


FIG.  51.— Larva  of  Large  Cabbage  White,  X  2. 

among  them  the  powerful  mandibles),  a  pair  of  eye- 
spots,  and  a  minute  pair  of  antennae.  All  these 
require  magnifying  power  for  convenient  observation. 
There  are  three  pairs  of  thoracic  legs,  and  further 
back  four  pairs  of  prolegs,  besides  a  pair  of  claspers 
at  the  hinder  end  of  the  body.  Except  where  reduced 

M  2 


1 64  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

for  special  reasons,  as  in  Geometer  larvae,  the  legs  of 
all  Lepidopterous  caterpillars  have  the  same  number 
and  disposition. 

When  I  have  examined  the  outward  appearance 
of  an  Insect,  I  like  to  anatomise  it,  and  here  comes 
the  chief  interest.  Just  as,  in  the  words  of  Tony 
Lumpkin,  the  inside  of  the  letter  is  always  the  cream 
of  the  correspondence,  so  the  inside  of  the  Insect  is 
the  best  part  of  its  structure.  I  should  like  very  well 
to  talk  about  the  things  which  can  be  seen  in  a 
caterpillar  by  the  dissecting  microscope,  the  air-tubes, 
the  nerve-cord,  the  heart,  the  digestive  tube  and  the 


FlG.  52. — Larva  of  Small  Cabbage  White,  X  2.     After  Buckler. 

reproductive  organs.  It  is  worth  while  to  note  that 
fresh-hatched  larvae  are  already  male  or  female. 
During  the  whole  larval  period  the  reproductive  organs 
slowly  increase  in  size  and  complexity,  and  when  the 
change  to  the  pupa  takes  place,  they  are  often,  to  the 
eye  of  the  anatomist,  perfectly  formed.  But  this  is 
hardly  the  place  to  describe  in  detail  things  which 
can  only  be  followed  with  the  scalpel  and  lens,  and  I 
will  say  no  more  about  the  anatomy  of  the  larva. 

The  larva  changes  its  skin  four,  or  sometimes  five 
times,  the  last  change  being  that  which  "we  call 
pupation.  Then  the  last  larval  skin  is  cast,  and  the 
pupa  is  disclosed.  In  the  preceding  changes  of  skin 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  165 

little  alteration  of  form,  only  increase  in  size,  is  to  be 
observed.  The  last  moult,  however,  appears  suddenly 
to  convert  the  larva  into  a  new  being. 

I  say  "  appears,"  because,  as  we  now  know,  the  pupa 
is  merely  the  larva  in  a  new  form.  Pupation  is  a  change 
of  skin,  accompanied  by  an  unusual  amount  of  change 
of  form.  When  the  last  larval  skin  is  cast,  the 
rudiments  of  wings  and  other  new  parts  become 
visible,  though  they  do  not  acquire  their  ultimate 
structure  nor  serve  any  useful  purpose  until  the 
resting-stage  is  over,  when,  after  one  more  moult  the 
winged  Insect  emerges. 

This  seems  plain  enough  to  any  one  who  observes 
for  himself.  Yet  much  controversy  was  needed  and 
much  Christian  ink  had  to  be  shed  before  men  could 
be  persuaded  to  drop  their  theories  and  look  the  facts 
in  the  face. 

When  our  Royal  Society  was  founded  the  wildest 
notions  were  abroad  as  to  generation,  development 
and  transformation.  If  the  reader  should  chance  to 
come  across  a  curious  but  rather  worthless  book 
published  in  1634,  Moufet's  (or  Mouffet's)  Theatrum 
Insectorum,  he  will  find  in  the  dedicatory  epistle  by 
Sir  Theodore  de  Mayerne  much  learned  trash  about 
the  universal  spirit  which  fills  and  governs  the  three 
kingdoms  of  Nature.  If  animals  and  plants  undergo 
transmutation,  Mayerne  does  not  see  why  it  should 
be  impossible  for  metals  to  do  the  same.  In  1651 
Harvey,  our  great  Harvey,  published  his  treatise  on 
Generation,  and  here,  as  all  the  world  knows,  is  solid 
matter,  the  fruit  of  observation  and  reflection  upon 
the  development  of  chicks  and  fawns.  But 


166  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Harvey  had  studied  the  scholastic  philosophy  too, 
and  he  treats  us  to  many  pages  of  learned  disquisition. 
Thus  he  explains  to  us  that  there  are  two  ways  in 
which  things  come  into  being.  The  material  may  be 
ready  to  hand,  and  require  only  to  be  supplied  with 
form.  The  sculptor  makes  a  statue,  but  he  does  not 
make  the  marble.  In  other  cases  material  as  well  as 
form  has  to  be  supplied,  or  at  least  brought  together, 
as  when  a  potter  gathers  clay,  and  adds  bit  to  bit  to 
make  an  image.  In  some  animals,  Harvey  goes  on, 
the  material  is  all  collected  beforehand,  and  only 
requires  to  be  thrown  into  shape  ;  that  is  metamor- 
phosis. In  others  the  parts  have  to  accrete  substance 
to  themselves  and  grow  ;  that  is  epigenesis.  Insects 
are  developed  by  metamorphosis,  but  the  higher 
animals,  which  have  blood,  develop  by  epigenesis. 

Such  was  the  kind  of  speculation  which  was  current 
in  the  learned  world  when  Malpighi  and  Swammerdam 
began  to  explore  the  transformations  of  Insects  with 
the  scalpel  and  the  microscope.  I  do  not  know  which 
was  the  first  to  observe  the  fact,  but  Malpighi  was  the 
first  to  announce  that  in  a  Lepidopterous  larva  nearly 
ready  for  pupation  the  legs  and  wings  of  the  imago 
may  already  be  distinguished  by  dissection.  The 
observation  is  to  be  found  in  that  memorable  treatise 
on  the  Silkworm,  which  Malpighi  wrote  for  our  Royal 
Society  in  1668,  and  which  they  printed  in  the 
following  year.  When  the  larva,  he  tells  us,  has  spun 
up,  its  skin  splits,  and  the  pupa  emerges  like  a  new^ 
animal  born  of  the  old  one.  The  antennae  sta'ttd  out 
in  the  place  formerly  occupied  by  the  mandibular 
muscles.  The  legs  of  the  Moth  appear  inside  the 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  167 

thoracic  legs  of  the  larva,  and  the  wings  project  from 
the  sides  of  the  segments,  in  places  which  were  marked 
shortly  before  pupation  by  purple  tracts.  The 
appendages,  when  they  first  emerge,  are  slimy,  and 
cohere  during  drying,  so  that  before  long  the  body 
and  appendages  of  the  pupa  seem  to  be  invested  by 
a  common  envelope.  Even  before  the  larva  begins 
to  spin,  says  Malpighi,  the  rudiments  of  the  wings  can 
be  made  out  beneath  the  skin  of  the  second  and  third 
segments,  while  the  antennae  are  already  formed 
within  the  larval  head.  The  pupa  is  a  mask,  which 
protects  and  conceals  the  future  Moth  until  it  has 
grown  firm  and  fit  for  the  emergencies  of  a  free 
existence.  Malpighi  rarely  makes  a  controversial 
remark,  and  here  he  offers  no  comment  on  the  views 
of  the  schoolmen,  but  quietly  states  the  facts  as  he 
knew  them  to  be. 

In  the  very  same  year  (1669)  appeared  Swammer- 
dam's  General  History  of  Insects,  a  precursor  of  the 
Biblia  Natures,  far  less  complete  and  valuable  than 
that  great  monument  of  industry  and  sagacity,  but  a 
noteworthy  book  which  had  its  results.  The  History 
appeared  a  little  later  than  Malpighi's  Silkworm,  as 
we  see  from  the  fact  that  Swammerdam  quotes  with 
high  praise  that  very  passage  of  Malpighi's  which  I 
have  condensed  above.  Swammerdam  in  his  History 
of  Insects  figures  Daphnia,  the  Louse,  the  Dragon-fly, 
the  Gnat,  Stratiomys,  Anthomyia,  the  Ant,  the 
Vapourer,  and  the  Cabbage-White,  giving  the  trans- 
formations of  such  as  undergo  transformation.  The 
text  is  meagre  as  compared  with  the  later  descrip- 
tions of  the  Biblia  Natures,  and  is  largely  occupied 


1 68  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

with  a  discussion  on  what  we  now  call  the  Transfor- 
mations of  Insects.  Swammerdam  protests  with  all 
his  might  against  such  words  as  Transformation  and 
Metamorphosis.  They  sounded  in  his  ears  as  Trans- 
mutation might  sound  to  us,  calling  up  such  possibili- 
ties as  the  change  of  men  to  wolves,  the  change  of 
the  flesh  of  oxen  to  bees,  the  change  of  putrefying 
plants  to  caterpillars,  and  the  change  of  lead  to  gold. 
Very  likely  Mayerne  believed  in  all  of  them  ;  Harvey 
certainly  believed  that  Insects  could  be  generated 
spontaneously  from  putrefying  matter.  Metamor- 
phosis was  with  him  not  a  particular  kind  of  growth, 
but  an  alternative  with  growth.  No  wonder  that 
Swammerdam  should  bitterly  remark,  after  giving  a 
long  extract  from  Harvey,  that  it  contained  nearly  as 
many  mistakes  as  words  ;  no  wonder  that  he  should 
hate  the  words  about  which  such  rank  misconceptions 
had  gathered.  He  insists  time  after  time  that  an 
Insect  grows  in  just  the  same  sense  as  a  plant  or  a 
Frog.  We,  who  have  not  had  Mayerne  or  Harvey 
to  refute,  wonder  a  little  at  his  vehemence,  and  see 
no  reason  why  we  should  not  employ  the  very  con- 
venient terms  Transformation  and  Metamorphosis. 
They  mean  to  us,  who  are  happily  unencumbered  by 
the  rags  of  scholasticism,  nothing  more  than  con- 
spicuous change  in  the  form  and  mode  of  life  of  an 
animal.  The  change  may  be  apparently  sudden,  as 
when  a  larva  becomes  a  pupa,  or  a  pupa  an  imago  ; 
again,  it  may  be  insensibly  slow,  as  when  a  Tadpole 
loses  its  tail  and  gills,  and  acquires  legs,  takirlg  three 
or  four  months  to  accomplish  the  transition.  Whether 
sudden  or  gradual  to  the  eye,  the  change  is  always  in 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  169 

reality  gradual  ;  the  new  organs  are  slowly  developed 
and  grow  by  imperceptible  degrees.  When  the 
animal  becomes  to  outward  appearance  transformed 
in  a  night,  it  is  because  the  new  parts  have  been 
concealed  by  the  old  skin,  and  are  suddenly  revealed. 

Malpighi  and  Swammerdam  knew  all  this  as  well 
as  we  do.  Swammerdam  tried  to  make  it  plain  to 
his  contemporaries,  but  in  spite  of  his  earnestness  he 
only  succeeded  in  a  moderate  degree,  so  much  were 
men's  words  and  thoughts  entangled  with  the 
mischievous  theories  of  bygone  ages. 

The  reader  will  be  glad,  I  dare  say,  to  quit  these 
ancient  controversies  and  get  back  to  matters  of  fact. 
We  have  seen  that  Malpighi  and  Swammerdam 
nearly  at  the  same  time  discovered  the  rudiments  of 
the  imago  within  the  caterpillar.  The  following  in- 
structions are  based  upon  Swammerdam's  method  of 
procedure.  Take  a  full-grown  larva  of  any  Moth  or 
Butterfly  which  has  ceased  to  feed,  kill  it  with  ether, 
tie  it  dawn  with  thread,  and  dip  it  several  times  in 
boiling  water.  The  outer  skin  will  then  peel  off 
readily,  and  the  Butterfly  will  be  exposed  to  view.  I 
have  repeatedly  done  what  Swammerdam  recom- 
mends, and  have  seen  what  he  describes.  When  the 
larval  skin  is  removed,  we  find  a  flabby,  pale-coloured 
object  left  behind,  which  has  two  pairs  of  short  and 
crumpled  wings,  three  pairs  of  legs  folded  beneath 
the  thorax,  a  pair  of  long  antennae,  and  a  pair  of  long 
and  slender  mouth-appendages.  Except  that  they 
are  soft,  wrinkled,  and  somewhat  undersized,  all  these 
parts  agree  perfectly  in  outward  form  with  the  wings, 
legs,  antennae  and  maxillae  of  the  Butterfly.  The 


i76  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

maxillae  are  intended  to  cohere  by  innumerable 
hooks,  and  so  to  form  the  long  suctorial  proboscis, 
by  which  the  Butterfly  will  search  the  depths  of 
nectar-bearing  flowers. 

Swammerdam  came  very  near  the  truth  in  his 
positive  statements  about  the  tranformations  of  In- 
sects, but  his  knowledge,  like  that  of  every  first 
explorer  of  a  very  difficult  subject,  was  incomplete  on 
many  points.  Having  found  that  the  caterpillar  just 
before  pupation  encloses  what  may  be  called  a  Moth 
or  Butterfly,  he  concluded  that  the  Moth  or  Butterfly 
had  been  there  from  the  first,  and  that  no  more  im- 
portant change  was  involved  than  the  expansion  and 
at  length  the  liberation  of  the  imago.  We  now  know 
that  much  goes  on  of  which  Swammerdam  had  no 
notion.  The  organs  of  the  imago  are  not  all  present 
from  the  first.  The  rudiments  of  the  wings  form  very 
early,  even  before  the  egg  is  hatched,  but  the  antennae, 
the  mouth-parts,  and  the  legs  of  the  imago  are  formed 
after  the  last  larval  moult.  Moreover,  there  is  de- 
struction of  old  parts  as  well  as  formation  of  new 
ones.  The  muscles  of  the  larva,  the  silk-glands,  and 
various  other  parts  which  are  not  required  after  the 
larval  stage  has  come  to  an  end,  disappear  altogether. 
The  organs  which  are  external,  and  belong  to  the 
outer  cuticle,  are  simply  cast  at  pupation,  but  what 
becomes  of  the  internal  organs  which  are  no  longer 
wanted  ?  How  do  these  disappear  ? 

They  are  eaten  up  and  converted  into  granules, 
which  serve  for  the  nutrition  of  the  rapidly  growing 
organs.  Certain  wandering  cells,  very  like  the  colour- 
less corpuscles  of  human  blood,  do  the  work.  The 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  171 

corpuscles  may  be  found  sunk  in  the  tissues  which 
they  are  devouring,  and  bits  of  striated  muscle,  plainly 
recognisable  under  the  microscope,  have  been  seen 
buried  in  the  protoplasm  of  such  corpuscles.  In  the 
same  way  the  muscles  of  a  Tadpole's  tail  are  eaten 
up  by  wandering  corpuscles,  which  carry  the  sub- 
stance which  they  have  appropriated  into  the  blood. 
How  they  part  with  it,  and  how  the  growing  organs 
get  the  benefit  of  the  food  contained  in  the  corpuscles, 
are  questions  to  which  we  can  at  present  give  no 
satisfactory  answer. 

What  is  a  pupa  ?  I  have  found  few,  even  among 
professed  naturalists,  who  could  give  a  full  and 
accurate  answer.  The  common  notion  is,  I  believe, 
that  the  pupa  is  a  resting-stage,  during  which  the 
imago  or  winged  Insect  is  formed.  The  form  of  the 
pupa  is  supposed  to  be  merely  protective.  Within 
the  hard,  usually  dark-coloured,  and  therefore  incon- 
spicuous pupa-skin,  the  imago  is  believed  to  form. 

There  is  some  truth  in  this,  but  it  is  not  the  whole 
truth.  Wings,  legs,  antennae,  proboscis,  and  other 
characteristic  members  of  the  imago,  form,  as  we  have 
seen,  during  the  last  larval  stage.  They  become  free 
for  a  short  space  at  the  time  of  pupation,  but  are  then 
folded  against  the  breast  and  glued  down.  The  pupa 
is  to  external  appearance  a  Moth  or  Butterfly  which 
has  glued  down  its  half-expanded  appendages  ;  it  is 
enveloped  in  a  close-fitting  skin,  which  will  be  cast 
when  the  imago  emerges. 

Swammerdam  must  have  often  asked  : — Since  the 
parts  of  the  Butterfly  are  plainly  to  be  seen  within 
the  larval  skin,  how  is  it  that  the  Butterfly,  complete 


172  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

in  all  respects,  does  not  at  once  issue  from  the  larval 
skin  ?  Why  should  a  pupa-stage  be  interposed  ?  I  have 
not  found  Swammerdam's  answers  to  these  questions. 
It  is  not  likely  that  he  was  able  to  answer  them  fully, 
for  minute  investigation  of  the  tissues  is  requisite,  and 
histology  was  wholly  undeveloped  in  Swammerdam's 
time.  Nowadays  the  most  obvious  course  is  to  cut 
transparent  sections  through  the  organs  of  the 
Butterfly,  after  the  larval  skin  is  stripped  off,  and  by 
microscopic  examination  we  soon  arrive  at  one  signi- 
ficant fact.  The  organs  of  the  Butterfly,  though 
recognisable  and  externally  pretty  complete,  are 
merely  the  outward  shapes  of  what  they  will  after- 
wards become.  The  muscles,  nerves,  air-tubes,  and 
other  histological  elements  are  either  absent  or 
extremely  imperfect.  Much  internal  growth  has  to 
be  accomplished  before  the  wings  are  fit  for  flying,  or 
the  legs  for  running.  This  is  the  proper  office  of  the 
pupal-stage  of  Lepidoptera,  to  carry  on  and  complete 
the  formation  of  new  parts,  necessary  to  the  flying 
Insect,  which  were  merely  blocked  out  in  the  larva. 
It  is  quite  conceivable  that  the  whole  growth,  both 
external  and  internal,  might  have  been  completed 
while  the  Insect  was  still  to  outward  appearance  a 
mere  larva.  Indeed  this  is  very  nearly  what  happens 
in  certain  Dipterous  Insects,  such  as  Chironomus.  In 
them  all  the  details  of  the  future  imaginal  organs  are, 
with  some  slight  exceptions,  completed  in  the  larval 
stage,  and  the  pupal  stage,  which  lasts  a  very  short 
time,  often  only  two  or  three  days,  is  employed  in 
giving  the  parts  the  firmness  which  they  will  require, 
and  in  filling  the  new  breathing-organs  with  air. 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  173 

There  are  great  differences  between  Insects  as  to 
the  amount  of  structural  change  which  goes  on  during 
the  pupal  stage.  In  some  (Blow-fly,  etc.)  the  whole 
larval  body  is  at  this  time  reconstructed  ;  in  others 
(Moths,  Butterflies)  the  new  parts,  fashioned  during 
the  larval  stage,  are  completed  internally  during  the 
pupal  stage  ;  while  in  a  third  case  (Chironomus,  etc.) 
most  of  the  new  parts  are  already  complete,  inside 
and  out,  when  pupation  sets  in,  and  require  little  more 
than  to  be  hardened,  or  in  the  case  of  certain  organs  to 
be  exercised  a  little,  before  they  enter  into  full  activity. 

It  is  likely  that  primitive  Insects  never  acquired 
wings,  and  led  much  the  same  life  during  the  adult, 
reproductive  stage  as  before.  There  are  still  some 
few  Insects  (Spring-tails,  Silver-fishes)  of  which  this 
is  true.  But  it  is  common  for  adult  Insects  to  fly. 
Flight  gives  facilities  for  finding  a  mate  not  too 
closely  related,  and  for  laying  eggs  in  likely  places, 
which  would  be  inaccessible  to  an  animal  which  could 
only  crawl  or  run.  Flight  does  not  of  necessity  bring 
about  any  change  of  food.  If  there  is  no  change  of 
food,  there  is  no  absolute  need  of  a  resting-stage. 
The  Dragon-fly  feeds  upon  live  Insects,  as  it  did  in 
its  earlier  aquatic  condition  ;  it  has  no  resting  stage 
at  all.  But  the  flying  adult  is  likely  to  profit  by  a 
change  of  food.  The  larva,  as  a  rule,  is  voracious  ;  it 
needs  a  capacious  stomach  and  stout  jaws,  but  no 
extraordinary  nimbleness  or  quickness  of  perception. 
When  the  Insect  comes  to  take  long  excursions  in 
the  air,  it  will  in  general  require  a  lighter  and  more 
nutritious  food,  such  as  the  nectar  of  flowers.  Change 
of  food  naturally  brings  about  changes  in  the  mouth- 


174  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

parts.  Short  and  powerful  mandibles  will  be  dis- 
carded, and  replaced  by  a  suctorial  proboscis.  Change 
of  mouth-parts  inevitably  means  cessation  from 
feeding,  and  almost  inevitably  cessation  from  work 
and  travel.  Then  we  get  a  resting-stage.  When 
once  established,  the  resting-stage  may  be  turned  to 
good  account  in  refitting  the  internal  organs,  and 
indirectly  in  promoting  specialisation  of  the  earlier 
and  later  stages.  Where  a  pupa-stage  is  provided, 
the  larva  may  be  yet  heavier  and  slower,  the  fly  yet 
more  swift  and  light.  If  the  flying  adult  is  specialised, 
and  the  female  capable  of  flying  far  and  scenting 
food  at  a  distance,  the  better  will  be  the  provision 
made  for  the  young  larva  and  the  less  the  exertion 
demanded  of  it.  But  the  more  inert  the  larva,  and 
the  greater  the  interval  between  it  and  the  active, 
quick-witted  Fly  or  Moth,  the  more  complete  will  be 
the  change  to  be  undergone  in  the  resting-stage. 

Though  some  Insects  and  not  others  are  described 
as  undergoing  transformation,  the  essential  and  prim- 
itive feature  is  the  periodical  change  of  skin  which 
occurs  in  all  Insects.  In  many  cases  advantage  is 
taken  of  the  change  of  skin  to  secure  a  change  of 
form.  The  interval  between  the  last  moult  and  the 
last  but  one,  when  passed  in  outward  inactivity  for 
the  purpose  of  effecting  conspicuous  change  of  form, 
is  what  we  call  the  pupa-stage.  The  more  the  larva 
resembles  the  imago,  the  less  the  need  of  a  true 
pupa-stage.  Difference  of  food  in  the  early  and 
final  stages,  scattered  food  in  the  larval  stage,  are 
among  the  reasons  for  conspicuous  difference  be- 
tween the  larva  and  the  winged  Insect,  and  indirectly 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  175 

reasons  for  a  resting  stage.  Similarity  of  food  in  all 
stages  of  growth,  and  abundance  of  food,  which  is 
easily  found  and  easily  appropriated,  are  circum- 
stances which  render  a  resting  stage  less  necessary. 

We  must  now  turn  back  and  study  the  formation 
of  the  new  organs  beneath  the  larval  skin.  Many 
larvae  have  to  be  sacrificed,  and  innumerable  sections 
examined  to  make  out  the  whole  story,  but  we  shall 
be  satisfied  here  with  learning  the  general  plan  of 
development.  At  the  time  of  the  fourth  moult  there 
is  no  indication  of  parts  differing  from  those  of  the 
larva.  But  as  soon  as  the  last  larval  skin  but  one 
has  been  cast,  a  new  skin,  which  we  shall  name  the 
pupal  skin,  begins  to  form  beneath  the  last  larval 
skin.  The  new  skin  is  not  exactly  moulded  upon  its 
predecessor,  but  pushed  inwards  here  and  outwards 
there.  Where  considerable  prominences  are  to  form, 
the  infoldings  are  deep,  and  from  their  innermost 
extremities  outward-directed  folds  project,  which  are 
shaped  in  some  cases  like  glove-fingers,  in  others  like 
pockets.  These  hollow  folds  are  wings,  legs,  antennae 
and  other  appendages,  telescoped  into  the  interior  of 
the  body,  because  the  correspond  ing  parts  of  the  larva 
are  not  large  enough  to  contain  them.  They  are 
often  much  bent  and  crumpled,  but  in  a  methodical 
way,  as  the  perfect  symmetry  of  the  two  sides  of  the 
body  shows.  Either  from  the  first  or  after  a  short 
interval,  a  second  skin  forms  within  the  pupal  skin  ; 
this  is  the  imaginal  skin.  As  the  imaginal  skin  and 
its  complex  folds  develop,  the  pupal  skin  ceases  to 
grow.  It  is  not  cast  or  ruptured  at  present,  but  it 
becomes  a  mere  passive  envelope,  which  takes  accu- 


176  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

rately  the  form  impressed  upon  it  by  the  growing 
parts  within.  The  larva  in  the  latter  part  of  its 
history  has  accordingly  three  skins,  one  outside 
another,  larval,  pupal,  and  imaginal. 

Insects  furnish  examples  of  every  degree  of  com- 
plication of  such  imaginal  folds.  Where  no  change 
of  form  is  to  be  effected,  the  imaginal  skin  is  closely 
moulded  upon  the  larval  skin.  Slight  changes  in 
length  of  leg  or  mouth-parts  are  readily  brought 
about  either  by  wrinkling  of  the  new  integument, 
which  becomes  extended  as  soon  as  it  is  freed,  or 
by  shallow  infolding.  Many  intermediate  cases  of 
various  complexity  occur  in  different  organs  or  in 
different  Insects.  The  maximum  of  complexity  is 
found  in  the  Blow-fly  and  other  Insects  of  the  same 
family.  Here  the  complete  want  of  correspondence 
between  the  structure  and  mode  of  life  of  the  larva 
and  the  fly,  together  with  the  high  and  special 
development  of  the  organs  of  the  fly,  have  led  to 
an  extraordinary  elaboration  of  the  imaginal  folds, 
which  are  numerous,  intricate  and  deep.  Closely 
connected  with  this  complexity  of  the  new  growth 
is  the  completeness  of  the  resting-stage.  The  pupa 
has  no  external  mark  of  a  living  thing ;  internally 
it  is  at  one  time  reduced  to  simple  elements,  and 
consists  of  a  kind  of  pulp,  except  for  the  unde- 
veloped imaginal  folds.  Protected  by  the  hardened 
larval  skin,  which  forms  a  firm  smooth  capsule  about 
it,  it  goes  through  the  evolutions  which  are  to  trans- 
form a  sluggish  and  voracious  larva,  destitute  of 
limbs  and  almost  destitute  of  senses,  into  a  swift  and 
adroit  fly. 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  177 

We  now  resume  the  history  of  the  Cabbage  White. 
I  will  next  quote  Reaumur's  account  of  the  method  of 
fixation  of  the  pupa.  His  pleasant  and  leisurely 
narrative  easily  admits  of  condensation,  and  I  pro- 
pose to  condense  it  greatly.  Those  who  prefer  the 
freshness  of  a  discoverer's  narrative  should  read  for 
themselves  the  ninth,  tenth  and  eleventh  memoirs  of 
the  first  volume  of  the  History  of  Insects. 

Reaumur  first  tells  us  of  Butterfly  larvae,  which  like 
those  of  the  Peacock  and  small  Tortoise-shell,  suspend 
themselves  at  the  approach  of  pupation  by  the  tail, 
and  hang  head  downwards.  The  larva  spins  a  web 
upon  a  leaf  or  other  support,  crowding  the  threads 
towards  the  centre,  so  as  to  form  a  projection  or  hill- 
ock. This  web  is  not  easily  seen,  but  it  can  be  made 
evident  by  placing  a  larva  ready  to  pupate  in  a  box 
lined  with  black  paper.  To  the  hillock  the  larva 
applies  the  hooked  claspers  at  the  end  of  its  body, 
and  so  gets  a  safe  attachment.  The  next  thing  is  to 
cast  the  larval  skin.  The  soft  parts  within,  covered 
of  course  by  the  thin  and  flexible  pupa-skin,  are 
swollen  and  contracted  by  turns  until  they  become 
loosed  from  their  envelope.  The  tail-segments  are 
the  first  to  be  disengaged  ;  afterwards  the  fore  part  of 
the  body  is  powerfully  distended,  and  the  larval  skin 
cracks  longitudinally  behind  the  head,  allowing  the 
surface  of  the  pupa  to  appear.  The  next  step  is  to 
slip  the  loose  skin  backwards  over  the  body.  This  is 
accomplished  by  the  successive  contraction  and  dila- 
tation of  the  segments  one  by  one,  and  is  aided  by 
spines  or  backward-pointing  hairs  upon  the  surface  of 
the  pupa,  which  act  like  a  ratchet,  and  prevent  the 

N 


178  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

disengaged  integument  from  slipping  back  to  its 
former  place.  When  the  old  skin,  like  a  stocking 
pushed  down  the  leg,  is  gathered  into  a  mass  of  folds 
close  to  the  extremity  of  the  body,  the  Insect  pro- 
ceeds to  free  itself  completely,  and  further  detaches 
the  cast  skin,  which  if  allowed  to  remain  hanging  by 
its  side,  would  needlessly  attract  the  attention  of 
Birds.  How  is  a  pupa,  hanging  by  its  tail,  and  with- 
out means  of  holding  on  by  the  rest  of  its  body,  to 
attach  itself  anew,  and  dislodge  the  cast  skin  ?  The 
tip  of  the  abdomen  of  the  pupa  bears  a  pair  of  pro- 
minences which  are  opposable  and  armed  with  many 
small  hooks.  At  their  base  the  abdomen  is  indented, 
and  forms  a  kind  of  elbow,  which  can  be  flexed,  and 
used  as  a  means  of  grasping.  The  pupa  extricates 
the  tip  of  its  abdomen,  using  the  elbow  and  the 
hooked  forceps  alternately  as  a  means  of  attachment ; 
it  then  creeps  a  short  distance  along  the  cast  skin, 
and  gets  an  independent  hold  of  the  hillock  of 
threads.  Next  it  sets  its  body  spinning,  first  in  one 
direction,  and  (if  necessary)  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion by  turns.  The  hooks  cut  through  the  threads 
which  hold  up  the  cast  skin,  and  this  falls  to  the 
ground. 

Where  the  pupa  is  to  hang  by  its  tail,  head  down- 
wards, the  artifice  of  the  Peacock  and  Small  Tortoise- 
shell  Butterflies  answers  perfectly,  but  the  Cabbage 
Whites  and  some  others  have  reasons  of  their  own  for 
taking  a  more  or  less  horizontal  position,  or  if  placing 
themselves  vertically,  keeping  the  head  uppermost. 
Here  a  second  attachment  becomes  desirable,  and 
they  secure  themselves  by  a  girdle  passing  round  the 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  179 

body  well  behind  the    head.     Reaumur   goes    on  to 
describe  the  girdled  pupae. 

Each  end  of  the  girdle  is  glued  to  the  supporting 
object.  At  first  sight  the  girdle  looks  like  a  single 
thread,  but  on  examination  with  a  lens  it  is  found  to 
be  made  up  of  many  threads,  which  are  neither  glued 
together  nor  interwoven.  It  is  sufficiently  loose  to 
allow  the  body  to  move  a  little  way  in  any  direction, 
and,  what  is  of  special  importance,  is  loose  enough  to 
allow  the  cast  skin  to  be  slipped 
off  beneath  it. 

The  larva  attaches  itself  by 
its  claspers  to  a  hillock  of  silken 
threads,  and  remains  quite  still 
for  many  hours  before  be- 
ginning to  spin  the  girdle.  The 
subsequent  operations  differ  a 
little  in  different  Butterflies. 
Reaumur  kept  several  kinds  in 
captivity,  and  was  rewarded  by 

discovering  three  modes  of  procedure,    each  adapted 
to  the  wants  of  a  particular  species. 

In  one  of  the  Hair-streaks  (Thecla)  the  larva  is 
stumpy  and  covered  with  stout  hairs.  Having  pre- 
viously attached  itself  by  its  tail,  it  contracts  the  fore- 
part of  its  body  as  much  as  possible,  fastens  the  be- 
ginning of  a  new  thread  to  the  support,  and  passes  it 
over  its  head  to  the  other  side  of  its  body,  where  it 
fastens  it  again.  The  head  is  employed  in  a  peculiar 
way  to  carry  the  thread  across.  Some  notion  of  the 
process  can  be  got  by  holding  a  thread  between  the 
finger  and  thumb  of  the  left  hand,  and  grasping  it 

N    2 


i8o  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

again  with  the  finger  and  thumb  of  the  right  hand. 
Then  the  right  finger  must  be  turned  so  that  the 
thread  rests  upon  its  nail,  which  answers  to  the  hard 
and  shiny  surface  of  the  head  of  the  larva.  By  this 
extempore  model  the  reader  can  better  understand 
how  the  thread  issuing  from  the  mouth  is  made  to 
sweep  across  the  body  in  an  arc  of  the  requisite  size, 
gliding  smoothly  all  the  time  over  the  polished  head 
Each  thread  as  it  is  fixed  is  passed  backwards  over 
the  spiny  segments,  which  contract  or  dilate  for  the 
purpose  of  aiding  its  passage,  and  thus  by  the  addi- 
tion o£  many  threads  the  girdle  at  length  acquires 
due  strength.  Then  the  fore  part  of  the  body  is 
extended,  the  head  passed  well  in  front  of  the 
girdle,  and  the  larva,  now  provided  with  a  two-fold 
attachment,  can  proceed  to  divest  itself  of  its  larval 
skin  without  fear  of  falling  to  the  ground. 

Reaumur  tells  us  next  how  the  Large  Cabbage  White 
manages.  When  pupation  approaches  the  larva  makes 
its  web  and  hillock,  as  already  described,  and  catches 
hold  with  its  hooked  claspers.  The  body  is  smooth, 
and  so  flexible  that  the  head  can  be  bent  backwards 
and  made  to  touch  the  fifth  segment.  Thus  doubled  up 
it  spins  the  girdle  from  side  to  side,  passing  it  round 
the  furrow  between  the  fifth  and  sixth  segments  of 
the  body.  When  sufficient  silk  has  been  spun,  the 
body  is  straightened,  and  comes  into  the  best  position 
for  support  by  the  girdle. 

The  third  method  of  girdle-spinning  is  practised -by 
the  Swallow-tail  Butterfly.  Here  the  larva*  holds  on 
by  its  tail  and  abdominal  feet,  the  head  is  thrown  well 
back,  and  the  thoracic  feet  are  in  the  air.  The  thread,. 


CABBAGE  WHITE  BUTTERFLIES  181 

as  it  proceeds  from  the  spinneret,  is  caught  by  the 
fore  legs,  and  held  taut,  as  by  the  fingers  of  a  person 
holding  a  skein  of  wool.  When  the  girdle  is  com- 
pleted the  larva  slips  its  head  through,  and  is  at  once 
adequately  supported. 

In  all  three  methods  it  is  requisite  that  the  girdle 
should  surround  the  body  at  a  point  well  behind  the 
head.  The  .tail  is  already  fixed,  so  that  the  body 
cannot  be  moved  forward  as  a  whole  after  the  girdle 
is  completed,  but  by  one  or  other  of  the  three 
methods  described,  viz. :  (i)  contracting  the  fore  part 
of  the  body  during  spinning  ;  (2)  doubling  it  up  ;  (3) 
arching  it  away  from  the  fixed  support,  the  girdle  is 
set  far  enough  back,  and  a  due  amplitude  is  insured. 

When  the  pupa  first  becomes  exposed,  it  is  much 
like  the  pupa  liberated  artificially  from  the  larval 
skin,  and  has  in  essentials  the  same  external  form  as 
the  future  Butterfly.  The  limbs  and  antennae  and 
proboscis  are  separate  for  a  moment.  Then  they  are 
gently  drawn  over  the  breast,1  the  proboscis  in  the 
middle  line,  and  the  others  in  perfectly  regular  pairs 
outside  it.  A  viscid  fluid  is  poured  out,  which  sets 
on  exposure  to  the  air,  and  glues  them  fast.  After 
this  the  pupa  can  only  move  its  abdominal  segments, 
and  even  this  it  rarely  does,  except  when  disturbed. 

During  the  pupal  stage  there  are  no  outward  signs 
of  life,  although  considerable  internal  changes  are  in 
progress.  The  alimentary  canal  becomes  smaller  and 
more  complex  ;  a  sucking  stomach  is  partitioned  off 
from  the  larval  crop,  for  use  in  drawing  up  nectar 

1  In  some  cases  this  appears  to  be  effected  directly  by  the 
process  of  extrication, 


182  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

through  the  proboscis ;  the  nerve-cord  and  dorsal 
vessel  become  shortened  ;  the  silk-glands  practically 
disappear  ;  the  reproductive  organs  enlarge  ;  the  new 
appendages  acquire  their  motive  and  sensory  appa- 
ratus ;  the  voluminous  fat-body  of  the  larva  is  used 
up.  No  food  can  at  present  be  taken  into  the  body, 
but  the  pupa  breathes  all  the  time,  and  perishes  if  its 
supply  of  air  is  cut  off. 

At  last  the  organs  of  the  Butterfly  have  attained 
the  last  degree  of  perfection  ;  the  pupal  skin  cracks 
along  the  back  of  the  thorax,  and  the  winged  imago 
emerges.  At  first  its  wings  are  damp  and  crumpled, 
but  they  speedily  expand  and  stiffen,  and  in  no  long 
time  the  Butterfly  is  ready  to  range  the  fields,  seek  its 
mate,  and  provide  for  new  generations. 

Not  all  the  larvae  bring  their  life-history  to  a 
prosperous  end.  There  are  some,  in  particular  years 
a  large  proportion,  which  are  attacked  by  a  deadly 
enemy,  an  Ichneumon  fly  (Microgaster  glomeratus), 
which  pierces  the  skin,  and  lays  its  eggs  in  the  living 
body.  The  eggs  hatch,  and  the  larvae  which  issue 
from  them  devour  their  host  alive.  The  victim  has 
not  strength  enough  to  assume  the  pupal  stage.  It 
creeps  up  some  adjacent  object,  as  if  with  the  in- 
tention of  casting  its  larval  skin,  but  remains 
immovable,  and  unchanged.  The  parasites  now 
devour  all  the  viscera,  creep  out  from  the  empty  skin, 
and  keeping  together,  spin  each  its  own  little  cocoon 
of  yellow  silk.  A  cluster  of  such  cocoons  may  often 
be  seen  hard  by  the  empty  larval  skin,  and.  people 
have  been  known  to  take  them  for  the  eggs  of  the 
Cabbage  White  and  destroy  them.  The  fully  de- 


CABBAGES  AND  TURNIPS  183 

veloped  Ichneumon  is  a  small  four-winged  fly,  with 
piercing  ovipositor,  or  egg-shoot,  and  long  antennae, 
which  vibrate  rapidly,  as  if  to  gain  from  the  sur- 
rounding air  some  intimation  of  the  neighbourhood 
of  their  prey. 

There  is,  in  this  as  in  other  like  cases,  a  peculiar 
relation  between  the  abundance  of  the  caterpillars 
and  the  abundance  of  the  parasites,  which  is  only 
fully  brought  out  by  long-continued  observation.  Let 
us  take  as  the  first  of  a  series  of  years  one  in  which 
the  caterpillars  are  plentiful  and  the  Ichneumons  few. 
This  state  of  things  favours  the  increase  of  the 
Ichneumons.  The  caterpillars  become  infested  in 
large  proportion,  few  pupae  yield  Butterflies,  many 
yield  Ichneumons.  When  things  come  to  a  climax 
the  Ichneumons  are  extraordinarily  plentiful,  but 
their  victims  fewer  than  usual.  Then  the  Ichneumons 
suffer  from  mutual  competition,  and  many  die  without 
propagating  their  kind.  As  their  numbers  decline, 
the  numbers  of  the  caterpillars  increase.  So  the 
cycle  comes  round  time  after  time,  the  maximum  of 
the  Ichneumons  lagging  behind  the  maximum  (and 
in  some  cases  nearly  coinciding  with  the  minimum)  of 
the  caterpillars. 

CABBAGES  AND  TURNIPS. 

My  cabbage-plot  is,  I  must  admit,  ridiculously  small, 
but  it  gives  me  plenty  of  opportunity  for  observation. 
The  difficulties  of  the  young  plants  in  dry  spring 
weather,  and  their  rapid  growth  in  a  wet  June  are 
among  the  little  events  of  our  year.  The  way  in 


1 84  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

which  the  leaves  throw  off  rain,  gathering  up  the 
moisture  into  big  drops,  which  roll  to  the  earth  about 
the  roots  instead  of  choking  the  breathing-pores,  and 
the  waxy  bloom  which  brings  this  result  about,  are 
well  worth  both  study  and  admiration.  I  hold  with 
Andrew  Fairservice  that  a  kail-blade  by  moonlight  is 
like  a  lady  in  her  diamonds.  Many  of  the  drops 
which  we  call  dew-drops  are  not  deposited  upon  the 
leaves  by  condensation  of  vapour,  but  exuded  as 
liquid.  You  can  see  this  very  plainly  in  the  Cabbage, 
for  the  drops  appear  at  certain  points  only  on  the 
margin  of  the  leaf,  where  veins  end.  Here  are  special 
water-pores.  Drops  are  exuded  whenever  the  tissues 
of  the  plant  are  chilled,  most  abundantly  when  a  cold 
night,  whether  clear  or  cloudy,  follows  a  hot,  damp  day. 
True  dew-drops  form  only  beneath  a  clear  sky,  and  con- 
dense as  a  multitude  of  minute  globules,  which  may 
afterwards  roll  together.  The  mere  cabbage-stalk  is 
a  wonder  in  its  way  if  carefully  examined.  Look  out 
for  cabbage-stalks  which  have  been  thrown  aside  to 
bleach  in  the  rain  and  sun,  not  in  the  filthy  air  of  a 
town,  but  on  a  country  farm.  You  will  see  the  stout 
network  of  fibres,  the  meshes  which  allow  the  cellular 
tissues  to  expand  and  to  communicate  with  one 
another,  the  bundles  of  vessels  which  pass  to  the 
roots  and  the  leaves.  If  you  can  get  a  turnip  bleached 
in  the  same  way,  compare  the  two,  and  notice  that 
the  turnip  is  merely  a  bulge  upon  what  is  essentially 
a  cabbage-stalk  too,  though  it  is  here  called  a  root. 
There  is  plenty  of  occupation,  to  say  nothing-of  pro- 
vocation, to  be  got  out  of  the  Insects  which  haunt  a 
cabbage-ground.  But  the  chief  interest  of  cabbages, 


CABBAGES  AND  TURNIPS  185 

turnips  and  the  like  is  to  me  the  part   which  they 
have  played  in  human  civilisation. 


FIG.  54.— Wild  Cabbage.     From  Sowerby's  English  Botany. 

Here  and  there  along  the  south  coast  of  England 
and  the  Welsh  coast  we  find  a  plant  known  as  the 


1 86  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Sea-cabbage  (Brassica  oleracea}.  It  grows  in  tolerable 
plenty  on  the  chalk  cliffs  of  Dover,  and  is  also 
recorded  from  the  Isle  of  Wight,  Cornwall,  South 
Wales,  and  Great  Orme's  Head.  It  is  about  twenty 
inches  high.  The  leaves  are  large,  jagged,  and 
covered  with  a  blue-green  bloom.  The  stem  is  tough 
and  woody.  The  flowers  are  of  a  pale  yellow  colour, 
and  are  succeeded  by  pods.  The  plant  belongs  to 
the  order  of  Cruciferae,  the  same  large  and  important 
order  which  yields  the  Radish,  Mustard  and  Water- 
cress. 

From  this  wild  original  (or  possibly  from  it  and 
one  or  more  closely  allied  forms  not  easily  distin- 
guished) have  been  derived  the  countless  varieties  of 
the  cultivated  cabbage.  Red  cabbages,  Brussels 
sprouts,  with  their  crowds  of  little  leaf-buds,  cauli- 
flowers, with  their  dense  masses  of  imperfect  flowers, 
brocolis  and  savoys,  are  all  cultivated  forms  of  the 
weedy  and  ragged  sea-cabbage.  In  Jersey,  Mr. 
Darwin  tells  us,  a  cabbage-stalk  has  grown  to  the 
height  of  sixteen  feet,  and  has  had  its  top  occupied  by 
a  Magpie's  nest,  while  the  woody  stems  are  often  ten 
or  twelve  feet  long,  and  have  been  used  as  rafters  and 
walking  sticks.  A  cabbage-stalk  fashioned  into  a 
walking-stick  may  be  seen  in  the  Museum  of  Economic 
Botany  at  Kew.  The  principal  varieties  were  estab- 
lished before  botanical  curiosity  had  been  excited, 
and  we  can  only  get  chance  bits  of  information  as 
to  the  time  and  place  of  their  first  appearance.^ 
Theophrastus  knew  of  three  cabbages,  Pliny  "of  six. 
Regnier  has  collected  evidence  that  cabbages  were 
cultivated  by  the  Celts  of  ancient  Gaul.  There  is  no 


CABBAGES  AND  TURNIPS  187 

hint  that  they  were  known  to  the  ancient  nations  of 
the  East,  and  De  Candolle,  who  made  laborious 
researches  into  the  subject,  believes  that  the  cultivated 
cabbage  is  of  European  origin. 

Turnips  are  practically  cabbages  in  which  the 
lower  part  of  the  stem,  beneath  the  seed-leaves,  has 
become  enlarged  and  fleshy  under  cultivation. 
Botanists  think  that  the  wild  turnip  and  cabbage, 
though  extremely  similar  in  form  and  mode  of  life, 
are  capable  of  separation,  but  this  is  a  question  for 
specialists  and  of  little  practical  moment. 

Cabbages  and  turnips  yield  striking  examples  of 
conspicuous  changes  due  to  long-continued  cultiva- 
tion and  selection.  They  must  have  been  factors  of 
appreciable  weight  in  the  early  civilisation  of  Western 
Europe.  We  can  imagine  some  old  European 
savage,  wandering  dinnerless  along  the  seashore,  until 
at  length  he  was  pressed  by  hunger  to  experiment 
upon  unfamiliar  plants.  That  savages  do  thus  gain 
knowledge  at  the  risk  of  their  own  lives  we  may  infer 
from  the  well-known  fact  that  they  are  well  ac- 
quainted with  the  properties  of  the  common  plants  of 
their  own  country,  and  can  point  out  which  are 
poisonous,  which  useless,  which  good  for  food.  Our 
savage  sees  the  tall,  weedy  sea-cabbage,  and  finding 
nothing  more  tempting,  tries  its  flavour.  There  is  a 
slight  pungency  of  taste,  which  raises  misgivings,  but 
no  ill-effects  follow.  Next  day  the  sea-cabbage  is 
again  resorted  to,  and  in  time  becomes  a  regular 
article  of  food.  Presently  some  ingenious  fellow,  the 
Watt  of  his  age,  saves  himself  the  trouble  of  a  daily 
journey  to  the  shore  by  transplanting  a  few  cabbages 


1 88  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

to  a  patch  of  ground  near  his  cave.  The  refuse  which 
lies  around,  unwholesome  as  it  is  to  men  and  animals, 
encourages  the  cabbages  to  more  vigorous  growth. 
Years,  perhaps  centuries  later,  another  great  advance 
is  accomplished,  and  men  begin  to  raise  the  cabbage 
from  seed.  Gardens  and  fences  follow.  It  is  no 
longer  necessary  to  spend  whole  days  seeking  food, 
and  the  man's  hands  are  set  free  to  make  himself 
shoes,  and  a  coat,  and  a  house. 

We  have  perhaps  given  to  the  cabbage  some  share 
of  the  credit  which  rightfully  belongs  to  barley  or 
some  other  nutritious  plant,  but  there  is  no  doubt 
that  the  cabbage  played  a  considerable  part  in  the 
early  civilisation  of  Western  Europe.  Cultivated 
plants  and  domestic  animals  are  the  very  foundation 
of  primitive  society.  As  the  plants  grow  more  juicy, 
and  the  animals  more  docile,  Man  too  rises  to  some- 
thing higher  than  he  was.  He  becomes  able  to  lead 
the  life  which  pleases  him,  and  not  that  which  is 
imposed  by  climate  and  the  wild  productions  of  the 
soil.  He  learns  by  slow  degrees  to  shape  his  own 
circumstances  and  habits.  But  his  intellectual  gifts 
and  his  social  aptitudes  cannot  be  developed  without 
certain  simple  natural  resources.  Of  these  the  chief 
are  plants  worth  cultivation  and  animals  worth 
domestication. 

We  have  no  distinct  record  of  the  time  when 
cabbages  and  turnips  were  not  cultivated  in  Western 
Europe.  But  until  modern  times  they  were  cultivated 
in  gardens,  by  the  spade,  and  on  a  small  scale.  No 
doubt  the  first  cultivation  of  vegetables  in  gardens, 
could  we  get  to  know  all  about  it,  was  the  important 


CABBAGES  AND  TURNIPS  189 

step,  but  the  mere  multiplication  of  useful  vegetables 
by  wholesale  culture  had  great  effects  upon  the  health 
and  prosperity  of  the  people,  and  this  part  of  the  story 
admits  of  being  set  down  in  some  detail. 

As  late  as  the  time  of  the  Civil  War  the  cattle  and 
sheep  of  England  had  to  endure  something  like 
starvation  every  winter.  Between  harvest  and 
ploughing  the  unenclosed  arable  lands  were  used  in 
common  for  grazing,  and  formed  together  with  the 
pasturage  of  wastes  and  moors,  the  chief  subsistence 
of  the  flocks  and  herds.  Hay  was  made  in  small 
quantity,  for  the  ground,  was  unfenced,  and  no 
diligence  of  the  haywards  could  keep  the  animals 
from  devouring  or  treading  down  the  long  grass.  At 
the  approach  of  winter  all  the  livestock  was  killed 
and  salted,  except  such  as  were  kept  for  breeding. 
No  grasses  were  raised  from  selected  seeds  till  the 
eighteenth  century,  though  clover  and  other  "  artificial 
grasses  "  had  been  introduced  from  the  Low  Countries 
a  century  earlier.  Turnips  are  said  to  have  been 
brought  over  by  Sir  Richard  Weston.  He  had  been 
ambassador  at  Brussels  (1620-2),  and  when  he  came 
back  he  cultivated  turnips  and  artificial  grasses  in 
fields  at  Sutton  in  Surrey.1  At  this  time  the 
Flemings  and  the  Dutch  were  the  most  advanced 
of  European  nations  in  horticulture  and  agriculture, 
and  their  vegetables  and  seeds  were  largely  imported 
by  England.  The  English  engineer,  ship-builder 
and  merchant  of  that  age  looked  to  the  Dutch  for 

1  A  Discourse  of  Husbandrie  used  in  Brabant  and  Flanders. 
London,  1650.     4to. 


190  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

example  and  training  just  as  naturally  as  did  the  few 
English  farmers  who  dreamt  of  adopting  improved 
methods.  The  turnip,  which  Tusser 1  had  called  a 
"  kitchen-garden  root  to  boil  or  butter,"  was  slowly 
taken  up  as  winter-food  for  sheep.  Blith  (1652) 
derides  turnips  altogether,  and  says  that  even  swine 
will  only  eat  them  when  boiled.  Jethro  Tull  claimed 
to  have  raised  turnips  in  the  field  in  King  William's 
reign,  but  he  adds  that  "  the  practice  did  not  travel 
beyond  the  hedges  of  my  estate  till  after  the  peace  of 
Utrecht."  Some  of  the  Essex  farmers,  however,  kept 
their  sheep  upon  turnips  towards  the  end  of  the 
seventeenth  century.  Townsend,  who  had  seen  them 
grown  as  a  field-crop  in  Hanover,  made  turnips  and 
clover  his  great  study  when  in  1730  he  turned  his 
back  upon  politics.  He  is  said  to  have  thereby 
increased  the  value  of  some  of  his  lands  tenfold.  It 
was  late  in  the  eighteenth  century  before  these  crops 
were  common  in  remote  counties,  such  as  Devonshire 
and  Northumberland.  About  the  same  time  English 
turnips,  as  they  were  commonly  called  by  foreigners, 
began  to  be  known  in  the  more  backward  provinces 
of  Germany.  Adam  Smith  shows  us  that  the  change 
was  complete  by  1776,  the  date  of  his  Wealth  of 
Nations.  He  there  says  of  turnips,  carrots  and 
cabbages  that  they  are  "  things  which  were  formerly 
never  raised  but  by  the  spade,  but  are  now  commonly 
raised  by  the  plough."  (Book  I.  Chap.  VIII.) 

Gilbert  White *  has  noticed  the  change  in  the  food 

1  Five  hundredth  points  of  good  husbandry,  1573. 
'2  Natural  History  of  Selborne^  Letter  37. 


CABBAGES  AND  TURNIPS  191 

of  the  English  people  and  its  consequences.  In  old 
days  all  the  livestock  that  could  be  spared  was  killed 
and  salted  at  the  beginning  of  winter.  From 
Martinmas  to  the  end  of  Lent  salt  flesh,  salt  fish  and 
pease  pudding  were  the  staple  food  of  well-to-do 
families.  Ill-cured  flesh  and  fish,  with  spoilt  grain, 
were  largely  consumed  by  the  poor.  The  only  green 
vegetables  for  winter  use  were  grown  in  gardens,  and 
were  unattainable  by  the  labourer  as  late  as  the 
sixteenth  century.  Hence  the  fatal  prevalence  of 
scurvy  and  leprosy.  To  this  day  leprosy  is  a  frequent 
disease  among  some  few  communities  which  live 
much  upon  corrupt  fish.  In  mediaeval  Europe  there 
were  lepers  everywhere,  and  ninety-five  leper-houses 
have  been  reckoned  up  in  England  alone.  The  last 
was  founded  at  Greenside  near  Edinburgh  as  late  as 
1591,  and  the  last  British  leper  died  in  Shetland 
during  the  eighteenth  century. 

It  is  impossible  to  separate  the  effect  of  unwhole- 
some food  from  the  effects  of  bad  lodging  and  dirty 
habits.  The  mediaeval  peasant  lived  in  a  narrow,  ill- 
built  hut,  such  as  could  be  run  up  in  a  few  hours.  The 
floor  was  of  earth,  the  roof  of  reeds  or  straw  ;  there 
was  no  chimney,  and  no  glazed  window.  Upon  the 
ground  were  strewn  heather  or  straw,  which  served  as 
a  lair  both  for  the  family  and  the  livestock,  for  the 
house  was  undivided,  and  there  was  no  other  stall  or 
pen.  Soap  was  dear,  and  the  peasant  rarely  washed. 
Bedding  was  dear,  and  he  slept  in  his  day  clothes. 

Three  hundred  years  have  wrought  a  great  change 
for  the  better.  Scurvy,  leprosy,  and  the  plague  are 
known  among  us  no  more,  and  for  this  we  have 


192  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

chiefly  to  thank  our  vegetables,  especially  the  potato, 
the  cabbage  and  the  turnip.1 


DUCKWEED. 

July  15. — Just  after  the  Wharfe  enters  Bolton 
Woods  there  is  on  its  left  bank  a  tract  of  swampy 
ground  with  ditches  and  pools.  In  summer  these  are 
overgrown  with  Duckweed,  which  is,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  common  everywhere  in  stagnant  water.  To- 
day I  was  walking  to  Barden  when  I  stopped  to 
hunt  for  aquatic  Insects  among  the  Duckweed.  I  saw 
a  peculiar  yellow  light  reflected  from  the  floating 
Duckweed,  and  on  looking  closely  perceived  that 
almost  every  frond  was  in  flower.  The  yellow  light 
was  reflected  from  the  anthers,  which  stood  out  from 
clefts  in  the  edges  of  the  fronds.  Man  sieht  nur 
was  man  weiss.  A  few  years  ago  I  had  never  seen 
Duckweed  in  flower,  and  supposed  that  it  seldom 
or  never  flowered  in  England.  A  botanical  friend, 
Mr.  Cheesman  of  Selby,  took  me  to  see  it  in 
flower,  and  since  that  time  I  have  discovered  how 
common  the  flowers  are  and  how  easily  they  may  be 
seen  by  an  attentive  observer. 

The  fronds  of  our  commonest  species  (Lemna 
minor)  are  oval,  but  not  quite  regularly  so,  and  bicon- 
vex or  lens-shaped.  One  end  is  semicircular,  and  the 

1  The  reader  who  desires  fuller  information  respecting 
English  agriculture  and  gardening  in  olden  times  may  be 
recommended  to  study  the  chapters  by  R.  E.  Prothero'in  Traill's 
Social  England^  and  Rev.  W.  Denton's  England  in  the  Fifteenth 
Century. 


DUCKWEED 


193 


opposite  end  pointed.  The  two-  sides  are  seldom 
quite  symmetrical.  A  ridge  extends  along  the  upper 
surface  from  the  round  to  the  pointed  end,  some- 
thing like  the  ridge  on  a  house-roof,  but  not 
nearly  so  sharp.  From  each  frond  a  thread-like  root 
hangs  down  into  the  water.  The  root  ends  in  a 


FIG.    55. — Duckweed  (Leinna  tninor),   magnified.     A,    single  frond ;    a,   scar    of 
attachment  to  parent.     A  ridge  extends  from  a  to  b  across  the  upper  surface  of 


out    two   new 


the    frond,    gently    subsiding    towards  b ',    B,    frond,    budding 

fronds.     C,    longitudinal  section.     D,  transverse  section.     All   the  figures  are 

diagrammatic. 

root-cap,  which  has  long  been  a  very  familiar  object 
of  study  in  every  botanical  laboratory. 

We  call  the  green  discs  of  Duckweed  fronds  and 
not  leaves,  because  they  bear  roots  and  flowers. 
Functionally  they  are  at  once  leaves  and  stems. 
During  the  summer  they  bud  continually.  A  pair  of 
minute  rudiments  appears  on  the  upper  surface  of  a 

O 


194  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

frond  while  it  is  still  very  small  and  concealed  within 
the  parent  frond.  Each  of  these  rudiments  becomes 
enclosed  in  a  special  sheath  formed  by  an  overgrowth 
of  the  frond  upon  which  it  is  borne.  The  new  fronds 
are  invariably  paired  at  first,  but  one  generally  out- 
strips the  other,  and.  often  only  one  comes  to 
maturity.  The  pointed  end  of  every  frond  marks  the 
place  where  it  was  attached  to  its  parent.  Four  or 
five  successive  generations  may  be  found  still 
fastened  together,  all  of  which  are  destined  to  break 
away  sooner  or  later. 

When  a  frond  is  studied  microscopically,  it  is  found 
to  be  built  up  of  small  green  cells.  There  is  a  faint 
midrib  and  a  pair  of  lateral  veins.  A  considerable 
part  of  the  interior  is  occupied  by  air-spaces,  which 
are  large  in  proportion  to  the  cells  and  arranged  in 
one,  two,  or  three  layers  according  to  the  depth  of  the 
frond  ;  it  is  these  air-spaces  which  give  to  the  frond 
its  remarkable  buoyancy.  The  upper  surface  repels 
water  strongly  when  the  plant  is  in  good  health  ;  the 
lower  surface  is  always  wet. 

The  flowers  spring  from  clefts  in  the  margins  of  the 
fronds,  and  are  enclosed  by  minute  scales  or  bracts, 
the  outer  one  forming  a  sheath,  which  is  burst  at  the 
time  of  flowering.  On  one  or  both  sides  of  the 
flowering  frond  appears  a  group,  enclosed  by  bracts 
and  consisting  of  a  pistil  and  two  stamens.  The  pistil 
is  flask-shaped,  and  surmounted  by  a  hollow  style, 
open  at  the  top  ;  each  stamen  bears  two  separate 
anther-lobes,  slightly  divided  into  two  cells.  The 
seeds  ripen  in  autumn.  They  are  minute  (less  than 
I  mm.  long),  oval  and  ribbed  along  their  length. 


DUCKWEED  195 

They  float  in  water,  and  germinate  at  the  surface  in 
the  course  of  the  following  spring. 

Lemna  minor  is  found  in  every  quarter  of  the 
globe,  though  it  is  wanting,  or  at  least  undiscovered, 
in  most  parts  of  the  tropics.1 

Winter  is  naturally  very  dtstructive  to  the  floating 
fronds  of  Duckweed.  A  frost  kills  many,  and  sends 
them  to  the  bottom.  During  the  milder  intervals 
fresh  fronds  are  budded  out,  but  they  get  smaller  and 
smaller  as  the  light  and  warmth  decline.  These 
winter-fronds,  which  are  often  so  small  as  to  escape 
the  notice  of  any  but  a  close  observer,  are  very  hardy, 
and  survive  a  hard  frost  in  considerable  numbers, 
serving,  together  with  the  seeds,  to  perpetuate  the 
race.  In  spring  they  emit  larger  fronds,  which 
multiply  with  great  rapidity,  and  soon  cover  the  water 
with  a  green  carpet.  I  believe  that  the  rapid  budding- 
out  of  the  new  fronds  is  materially  aided  by  their 
tendency  to  form  strings  and  chains,  which  spread 
loosely  and  irregularly  over  the  surface  of  the  water. 
Most  floating  objects,  such  as  seeds  of  water-plants, 
or  bits  of  stick,  attract  one  another  at  all  points,  and 
gather  into  a  dense  mass.  But  Duckweed  fronds 
attract  one  another  at  certain  points  only.  Hence 
they  cling  together  in  strings  and  stars  with  unoccu- 
pied spaces  between.  Some  simple  experiments, 
which  can  be  easily  set  up  in  any  household,  will 
illustrate  the  principle  on  which  the  difference  de- 
pends. Take  a  small  cork,  and  cut  it  into  a  number 
of  slices.  Set  these  floating  on  water  The  discs  of 
cork  attract  one  another,  and  are  attracted  to  the 

1  Hegelmaier,  Die  Lemnaceen^  p*  142. 

O   2 


196  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

sides  of  the  vessel.  Why  is  this  ?  The  water  rises 
on  the  sides  of  the  discs  and  also  on  the  inside  of  the 
vessel,  forming  in  each  place  an  ascending  capillary 
curve.  Descending  capillary  curves  are  also  to  be 
met  with.  If  a  lump  of  soot  or  a  greased  disc  is  set 
floating  on  water,  it  will'be  surrounded  by  a  descend- 
ing curve.  Mercury  in  a  glass  dish  or  a  barometer- 
tube  has  its  free  surface  bordered  by  a  descending 
curve.  We  can  easily  change  the  ascending  curve  of 
water  in  a  glass  vessel  to  a  descending  one.  Take  a 
glass  or  cup  half-full  of  water ;  the  water  creeps  up 
the  side  in  an  ascending  curve.  Add  water  until  it 
rises  level  with  the  brim  ;  then  we  say  that  the  vessel 
is  full.  Though  it  is  full,  we  can  still  add  a  consider- 
able quantity  without  spilling,  if  we  do  it  steadily. 
The  vessel  can  be  made  over-full,  when  the  flat 
surface  of  the  water  will  be  visibly  bounded  by  a 
descending  capillary  curve. 

We  have  next  to  remark  that  if  two  small  floating 
objects  are  surrounded  by  capillary  curves,  they  will 
either  attract  or  repel  one  another  according  to  circum- 
stances. If  the  curves  are  alike,  both  ascending  or 
both  descending,  the  objects  will  attract  one  another ; 
if  they  are  unlike,  one  ascending  and  the  other  descend- 
ing, they  will  repel  one  another.  A  theoretical  proof 
of  this  can  be  given,1  but  the  fact  can  be  directly 
established  by  experiment.  Take  a  small  vessel 
nearly  full  of  water,  and  place  in  it  a  small  disc  of 
cork  or  wood.  If  the  side  of  the  vessel  and  the  disc 
are  both  wetted  by  water,  there  will  be  an  ascending 

1  I  have  tried  to  put  the  proof  in  the  simplest  possible  way 
in  my  Object  Lessons  from  Nature,  Part  II.,  p.  150. 


DUCKWEED  197 

capillary  curve  around  each.  The  result  is  that  the 
disc  will  be  attracted  to  the  side  of  the  vessel.  Every 
time  that  it  is  moved  away  for  a  short  distance  it  comes 
back  again.  But  if  we  add  water  little  by  little  with 
a  syringe  until  the  vessel  becomes  over-full,  we  convert 
the  ascending  curve  into  a  descending  one.  Unlike 
curves  are  now  brought  together,  and  the  disc  is 
repelled.  By  sucking  up  a  little  water  the  ascending 
curve  can  be  restored,  and  then  the  disc  will  be 
attracted  by  the  side.  Thus  we  may  go  on  as  long  as 
we  please,  causing  the  disc  to  be  attracted  and  repelled 
by  turns. 

The  shape  of  one  of  the  fronds  of  our  commonest 
Duckweed  (Lemna  minor)  has  already  been  described 
(p.  193).  At  each  end  of  the  ridge  which  runs  along 
its  upper  surface  the  margin  of  the  frond  is  slightly 
raised  above  the  water-level,  and  to  it  the  water  rises 
in  an  ascending  capillary  curve.  Each  of  these  raised 
parts  of  the  margin  will  be  a  centre  of  attraction  to  a 
like  centre  on  another  frond.  The  free  edge  of  a 
budding  frond  is  also  raised  above  the  water-level,  and 
forms  another  centre  of  attraction.  Hence,  when  a 
number  of  fronds  float  upon  water,  they  are  attracted 
to  one  another  at  certain  points,  while  the  intervening 
parts  of  their  margin  come  flush  with  the  water  and 
are  inert.  We  can  imitate  the  effect  by  models.  Cut 
out  of  paper  boat-shaped  strips,  say  half  an  inch  long, 
and  pointed  at  each  end.  Turn  every  point  up,  and 
set  the  strips  floating  upon  water.  There  will  be  an 
ascending  capillary  curve  at  each  end  of  every  strip, 
and  these  will  attract  one  another,  so  that  the  strips 
will  arrange  themselves  in  chains  and  stars  like  Duck- 


198  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

weed.  They  will  be  equally  attracted  by  the  sides  of 
the  vessel,  unless  this  is  made  over-full  of  water. 

To  get  direct  evidence  of  the  existence  of  centres  of 
attraction  around  the  floating  fronds,  set  one  floating 
upon  water,  and  bring  near  it  a  clean  glass  rod  dipped 
into  the  water.  There  will  be  an  ascending  capillary 
curve  around  the  rod,  and  this  will  attract  the  frond, 
which  will  turn  itself  about,  so  as  to  bring  one  of  its 
centres  of  attraction  next  to  the  rod.  The  frond  may 
be  dragged  about  the  surface  and  made  to  turn  round 
without  being  touched. 

What  good  does  the  Duckweed  get  from  these 
centres  of  attraction  ?  It  is  these  which  cause  the 
fronds  to  cohere  into  strings  and  chains  instead  of 
forming  a  compact  mass.  A  moment's  thought  shows 
how  profitable  this  is  to  the  plant.  Were  the  Duck- 
weed to  crowd  together,  like  bits  of  cork  or  seeds,  the 
fronds  in  the  centre  of  the  mass  would  be  unable  to  get 
room  for  budding.  It  would  be  necessary  to  displace 
a  vast  number  of  mutually  attractive  bodies  before  a 
single  new  frond  could  be  pushed  out.  But  by  the 
simple  provision  of  inequalities  of  level  along  the 
margin,  the  fronds  group  themselves  in  stars  and 
strings,  with  lanes  between  them,  so  that  they  can 
push  forth  fresh  buds  without  difficulty  as  long  as  any 
unoccupied  space  remains. 

The  same  capillary  forces  aid  in  the  transport  of 
Duckweed  to  fresh  sites.  If  we  put  a  stick  into  water 
overspread  with  Duckweed,  we  cannot  fail  to  notice 
how  the  fronds  cling  to  the  stick.  They  cling  in  a 
particular  way,  which  enables  them  to  bear  transport 
more  easily.  The  wetted  surface  of  the  frond  is 


ROUTINE  199 

attracted  to  the  wetted  stick,  because  both  have 
ascending  capillary  curves  applied  to  them.  The 
water-repelling  surface,  which  best  resists  drying,  is 
turned  outwards  and  exposed  to  the  air.  Duckweed 
clings  to  the  legs  of  water-birds  and  to  the  elytra  of 
water-beetles,  and  may  be  carried  by  them  to  distant 
pools.  The  wide  distribution  of  the  various  species 
and  the  extraordinary  speed  with  which  they  over- 
spread any  water-surface  to  which  they  may  get 
access,  are  due  among  other  things  to  the  capillary 
forces  which  come  into  play  at  the  surface  of  any 
liquid. 

ROUTINE. 

The  course  of  the  year  admonishes  every  man  who 
takes  life  seriously  to  attend  to  his  daily  routine. 
Life  is  a  long  year  ;  the  year  is  a  long  day. 

Here  are  three  maxims  by  Lagrange,  which  I 
venture  to  recommend  to  every  student.  The  first  was 
borrowed  from  the  practice  of  Frederick  the  Great. 

1.  Do  the  same  things  at  the  same  hours  every 
day,  taking  the  hardest  first,  if  possible. 

2.  Before  going  to  sleep  settle  the  plan  of  the  next 
day's  work. 

3.  When  you  read  for  study,  read  pen  in  hand. 

To  these  I  will  make  bold  to  add  another.  After  the 
morning  bath  encourage  the  circulation  by  running  till 
you  are  out  of  breath.  A  strong  young  man  will 
easily  run  a  mile,  but  those  who  are  older  or  less  fit 
should  only  attempt  what  they  can  do  without 
distress. 


200  ROUND  THE  YEAR 


WEEDS. 

I  have  about  an  acre  of  ground  to  look  after.  The 
natural  slope  is  so  sharp  that  in  order  to  get  a  level 
tennis-court  and  a  level  terrace  round  the  house,  great 
embankments  of  earth  have  had  to  be  formed.  Some 
of  these  are  planted  with  evergreens  ;  one  has  been 
covered,  with  very  little  trouble  and  no  cost,  by  the 
Creeping  Buttercup.  My  gardening  friends  smile  when 
I  tell  them  that  I  am  planting  one  of  the  commonest 
and  most  mischievous  of  weeds.  But  I  am  well 
satisfied  with  the  plant.  It  forms  a  thick  mass  of 
green  foliage,  which  completely  hides  the  ground  all 
the  year  round.  In  summer  it  is  gay  with  yellow 
flowers.  When  it  has  once  established  itself  no 
intruders  can  gain  admission,  and  neither  clipping  nor 
weeding  is  required.  But  care  is  needed  to  keep  the 
Buttercup  within  bounds.  It  is  a  rapid  creeper,  and 
will  spread  fast  over  ill-tended  ground.  If  I  had  three 
or  four  acres  to  mind  instead  of  one,  I  would  plant  no 
Creeping  Buttercups. 

The  pastures  which  formerly  occupied  this  site 
abounded  with  Sorrel  and  Earth-nut  (Bunium 
flexuosum)  and  these  are  our  most  troublesome  weeds. 
The  tough,  yellow  root-stocks  of  the  Sorrel,  and  the 
chestnut-shaped  tubers  of  the  Earth-nut  enable  them 
to  offer  a  stout  resistance  to  the  hoe  and  every  other 
weeding  tool.  Turn  over  the  ground  as  often  "as  you 
please,  they  come  up  again  in  undiminished  numbers. 
There  is  no  remedy  but  total  extirpation  one  by  one, 


WEEDS  201 

a  work  of  time  ana  patience.  Shall  I  ever  be  rid  of 
them?  Probably  not,  but  I  hope  to  keep  them  in 
subjection  at  least. 

What  is  a  weed  ?  A  plant  that  persists  in  coming 
up  where  it  is  not  wanted.  Weeds  may  be  beautiful, 
at  least  few  of  us  would  deny  beauty  to  the  Poppy 
and  the  Dandelion  and  the  Corn  Cockle.  They  may 
even  have  a  certain  use  as  food  or  medicine.  But  if 
they  invade  our  fields  and  gardens  against  our  will,  we 
set  them  down  as  weeds,  and  exterminate  them  as 
well  as  we  can. 

Provoking  as  they  are,  we  cannot  help  admiring 
their  cleverness.  Notice  the  rosettes  of  the  Rib-grass, 
Dandelion  or  Shepherd's-purse,  pressed  close  to  the 
ground,  and  denying  space  to  any  other  plant  within 
a  certain  radius.  What  an  ugly  bare  patch  is  left  on 
the  lawn  when  one  of  these  is  rooted  out !  Or  notice 
the  artfulness  with  which  many  agricultural  weeds 
time  the  ripening  of  their  seeds,  so  that  they  are  reaped 
with  the  corn  and  sown  with  the  corn.  Have  they 
really  adapted  their  original  habits  to  those  of  the 
cereals,  or  was  it  only  a  happy  coincidence?  See 
how  some  weeds,  like  the  Creeping-Buttercup,  can 
propagate  by  runners,  others,  like  Celandine,  by  little 
bulbils,  small  and  easily  detached  buds,  which  produce 
new  plants  whenever  they  are  cast  upon  suitable 
ground.  The  Speedwells  and  many  others  spring  up 
again  after  they  have  been  chopped  to  pieces.  Agri- 
mony, and  the  Forget-me-not  of  the  fields,  and  Hedge 
Avens,  and  Burdock  have  hooked  fruits,  which  cling 
to  the  hides  of  cattle  and  the  fleeces  of,  sheep,  and  so 
make  their  way  into  new  pastures.  But  visible  con- 


202  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

trivance  explains  only  a  small  part  of  the  facility  with 
which  weeds  spread  in  cultivated  ground. 

Canon  Ellacombe  in  his  pleasant  little  book  on  a 
Gloucestershire  garden  observes  that  every  year  there 
must  be  millions  of  seeds  formed,  and  for  the  most 
part  ripened,  in  that  acre  or  two,  yet  few  of  them 
produce  seedlings,  while  Groundsel,  Thistle,  and  other 
weeds  seem  to  have  an  unbounded  power  of  germina- 
tion. Yet  the  garden  flowers  have  their  special  con- 
trivances too,  less  familiar  to  us  than  those  of  our 
common  weeds,  partly  because  the  exotic  species  are 
less  frequent  here,  and  partly  because  they  are  not  at 
home  with  us.  It  often  happens  that  an  imported 
plant  cannot  bring  its  contrivances  into  action  for 
want  of  a  particular  friendly  Insect  or  some  other 
favouring  circumstance,  which  the  land  of  adoption 
does  not  supply.  Climate  and  soil  may  be  adverse  to 
imported  species.  Some  of  our  garden  plants  come 
from  countries  which  are  much  hotter  or  colder,  much 
drier  or  wetter  than  Britain.  It  is  to  be  expected  that 
in  all  these  matters  the  natives  will  be  at  an  advantage 
in  comparison  with  forced  immigrants. 

If  this  were  all,  if  it  were  merely  a  question  of 
climate  and  soil,  or  of  accustomed  surroundings,  all 
plants  might  be  expected  to  suffer  when  transported 
to  distant  continents.  But  when  we  look  into  the 
facts,  we  find  that  this  is  not  at  all  universally  the 
case.  The  weeds  of  Europe  do  not  suffer  when 
transported  to  the  southern  hemisphere,  but  flourish 
and  often  drive  out  the  native  plants.  The  weeds  of 
the  southern  hemisphere  are  unable,  however,  to  make 
things  even  by  invading  any  patch  of  ground 


WEEDS  203 

in  Europe.  Let  us  cite  a  few  examples  in  proof. 
In  Australia,  such  European  weeds  as  the  Bathurst 
Burr  (Xanthium  spinosum),  the  Noogoora  Burr 
(Xanthium  strumarium\  the  Spear-thistle,  the  Sweet- 
briar  and  the  Stinging  Nettle  have  spread  far  and 
wide,  and  often  constitute  a  real  plague.  In  New 
Zealand  our  Dock,  Water-cress  and  Sow-thistle 
have  multiplied  so  as  to  require  proscription  by  law. 
In  St.  Helena  the  native  vegetation  has  almost 
disappeared  before  man  and  the  plants  and  animals 
which  he  has  brought  with  him.  Our  common  annual 
grass  (Poa  annud]  thrives  in  many  parts  of  South 
America,  and  our  Shepherd's-purse,  as  well  as  our 
common  corn-weeds,  have  become  dispersed  over 
almost  the  whole  world.  The  most  troublesome 
weeds  of  the  United  States  are  said  by  Asa  Gray  to 
be  of  British  origin.  It  is  the  same  with  the  animals. 
Our  Rabbit  and  Rat  and  Pig  and  House-fly  and 
Drone-fly  seldom  find  a  country  in  which  they  cannot 
multiply.  The  Horses  of  the  Spanish  conquerors  ran 
wild  and  increased  prodigiously  in  America. 

But  there  is  no  reciprocity  in  the  matter.  Southern 
plants,  and  more  rarely  southern  animals,  do  now  and 
then  get  access  to  Europe,  but  they  cannot  maintain 
themselves  here.  All  kinds  of  foreign  plants  are 
brought  over  in  ballast  or  wool,  and  for  a  season  or 
two  they  come  up  where  they  may  chance  to  be 
thrown  out,  but  when  the  supply  ceases,  native  plants 
quickly  take  their  place.  Many  an  attempt  has  been 
made  to  establish  the  flowers  of  the  Cape  or  South 
America  in  places  of  similar  climate  in  Europe,  but 
they  have  been  uniform  failures.  The  Agave  (in- 


204  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

correctly  called  the  Aloe)  of  Mexico  has  spread 
through  the  tropics,  and  has  established  itself  on  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean,  but  it  cannot  hold  its 
own  except  in  spots  where  our  common  weeds  refuse 
to  grow  or  grow  at  a  disadvantage.  I  know  of  not  a 
single  animal  native  to  a  distant  southern  country 
which  can  maintain  itself  in  Europe. 

Hooker  and  Wallace  have  spoken  of  the  aggressive- 
ness and  colonising  power  of  the  Scandinavian  flora, 
but  this  is  too  limited  an  expression.  The  plants, 
and  not  only  the  plants  but  the  animals  of  Europe 
and  the  greater  part  of  Asia  exhibit  this  dominance  ; 
it  is  a  feature  of  the  Palaearctic  fauna  and  flora.  The 
fauna  and  flora  of  North  America  occasionally  give 
way  to  the  Palaearctic  fauna  and  flora,  but  show 
dominance  over  the  animals  and  plants  of  other  parts 
of  the  world.  What  is  known  of  the  animal  life  of 
the  more  recent  geological  periods  tends  to  show  that 
this  relation  is  of  very  long  standing.  Not  a  few 
animals  now  characteristic  of  distant  countries,  such 
as  the  Lemurs,  Tapirs,  Hippopotamus,  Giraffe, 
Sea-cows,  Sloths,  Elephants  and  Marsupials,  were 
once  European.  There  is,  I  believe,  nothing  to 
show  that  they  did  not  originate  in  the  northern 
hemisphere.  But  the  imperfection  of  the  geological 
record  bids  us  to  be  careful  in  drawing  wide 
inferences. 

The  plants  and  animals  of  our  fresh  waters  do  not 
enjoy  the  same  dominance.  Our  fresh  waters  are  cut 
up  into  many  small  portions,  and  the  severity  of  the 
competition  in  them  is  thereby  greatly  reduced. 
Accordingly  we  find. that  many  of  our  fresh-water 


WEEDS  205 

animals,  especially  the  pond-snails,  concerning  which 
we  have  unusually  full  information,  exhibit  a  great 
range  in  time,  the  genera  being  traced  to  Wealden 
or  even  to  Carboniferous  times.  They  survive  by 
isolation,  as  certain  ancient  land-animals  survive  in 
Australia  or  New  Zealand.  It  is  interesting  to  note 
that  our  fresh- water  areas  can  be  successfully  invaded. 
The  Anacharis  of  North  America  is  a  familiar  instance. 
The  Azolla  of  North  America  is  now  plentiful  in  the 
canals  of  Holland,  and  may  easily  spread  to  other 
parts  of  Europe. 

The  great  land-mass  of  the  northern  hemisphere  for  a 
long  time  past  seems  to  have  been  the  usual  birth- 
place of  new  forms  of  life.  Here  severity  of  competition 
has  created  new  races,  which  have  spread  into  the 
southern  lands  as  opportunity  offered,  driving  before 
them  the  original  inhabitants,  and  then  themselves 
becoming  unprogressive  by  reason  of  their  isolation. 

It  is  probable  that  since  the  time  of  the  formation 
of  the  Chalk  the  great  oceans  have  always  been  pretty 
much  where  they  now  are.  There  have  been  normally 
one  or  two  continents  in  the  northern  hemisphere. 
When,  as  is  now  the  case,  North  America  has  been 
cut  off  from  Asia,  the  barrier  has  not  been  of  a  very 
permanent  nature.  An  elevation  of  180  feet  would, 
as  Dana  remarks,  form  a  land-passage  30  miles 
wide  from  Asia  to  America.  The  southern  hemi- 
sphere is  mainly  occupied  by  sea,  but  possesses  three 
continents,  viz.  South  Africa,  Australia,  and  South 
America,  which  have  sometimes  existed  as  islands,  and 
have  sometimes  been  joined  to  the  northern  continents. 
There  is  no  proof  that  any  one  of  the  three  has  ever 


206 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


been  united  to  another.  South  Africa  was  cut  off 
from  Europe  in  later  Tertiary  times  by  the  sea  of  the 
Sahara.  Before  the  elevation  of  the  Andes,  which  is 
apparently  an  event  of  no  very  great  antiquity,  it  is 
probable  that  South  America  was  cut  off  from  North 
America.  The  accompanying  diagram  shows  rudely 
the  normal  arrangement  of  the  great  natural  con- 
tinents. 


PAL^ARCTIC. 
Europe.  Asia. 


S.  Africa. 


Australia. 


N.  America. 


I 


S.  America. 


The  Palsearctic  region  is  much  the  largest  of  the 
natural  continents,  and  is  intersected  by  few  in- 
superable barriers.  Hence  freedom  of  communication 
and  the  fiercest  rivalry.  E  very-day  experience  teaches 
us  that  in  any  competition  the  severity  will  increase 
with  the  number  of  competitors,  and  will  diminish 
with  artificial  restrictions  of  any  kind.  It  is  harder  to 
be  the  best  cricket  or  football  player  of  a  county  than 
of  a  village,  of  all  England  than  of  a  county.  If  there 
are  scholarships  to  be  awarded,  and  one  is  limited  to 
natives  of  Cornwall,  another  to  natives  of  Devonshire 


WEEDS  207 

and  so  on,  you  will  get  a  poorer  competition  than  if 
all  were  open. 

Dominance  is  much  the  same  in  the  tribes  of  men 
as  among  plants  and  animals.  We  understand  the 
dominance  of  the  European  better  when  we  re- 
collect how  race  after  race  has  fought  for  mastery  in 
Europe.  We  understand  the  dominance  of  English- 
men over  remote  savages  better  when  we  reflect  upon 
the  ancient  wars  within  these  islands,  the  "  scuffling  of 
kites  and  crows,"  when  tribes  of  all  kinds  strove 
together  with  life  or  death  as  the  issue.  Let  the 
survivors  of  such  a  competitive  examination  as  that  be 
brought  face  to  face  with  some  long-isolated  Polynesian 
people,  and  can  it  be  doubted  for  a  moment  which 
will  prevail  ?  Races  of  men,  races  of  animals,  races 
of  plants,  religious  faiths,  modes  of  civilisation,  all 
originate  in  the  northern  continents,  and  spread  out  in 
successive  waves.  But  there  is  no  return-current. 
The  plants  and  animals  of  the  southern  continents 
can  no  more  return  to  Europe  or  Asia  than  the 
Basques  and  Finns  can  recover  Central  Europe.  The 
Palaearctic  Region,  and  in  a  less  degree  North  America, 
have  been  the  officina  gentium  of  which  Jornandes 
spoke,  the  laboratory  in  which  new  tribes  are  fashioned, 
the  starting-point  of  waves  of  migration  which  at 
length  reach  to  the  remotest  corners  of  the  earth. 

Our  common  European  weeds  are  the  very  strongest 
in  competition  of  all  plants.  They  have  come  out 
first  in  the  contest  for  place.  Most  of  them  produce 
plenty  of  light  seeds,  which  are  easily  dispersed  by 
the  wind.  Most  of  them  are  hardy  and  able  to  endure 
extremes  of  temperature.  Most  of  them  are  self- 


208  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

fertilised,  or  wind-fertilised,  or  capable  of  being 
fertilised  by  any  good-sized  Insect,  and  they  are 
therefore  able  to  thrive  in  new  countries,  no  matter 
what  Insect-life  they  may  find  there.  But  our  garden 
plants  are  selected  by  Man  for  their  beauty.  Many 
of  them  come  from  the  southern  continents,  or  from 
countries  where  competition  is  less  severe  than  with 
us.  Many  are  rare  in  their  native  land.  We  clear  a 
bit  of  ground,  plant  it  with  a  miscellaneous  collection 
of  such  species,  and  then  a  struggle  begins  between 
the  natives  and  the  foreigners.  It  is  all  that  we  can 
do  to  keep  the  weeds  from  exterminating  their  feeble 
competitors.  We  tear  them  up  by  the  roots,  chop 
them  to  pieces  with  hoes,  and  with  much  pains  just 
succeed  in  preserving  our  favourites  from  destruction. 
The  naturally  selected  are  so  much  stronger  than  the 
artificially  selected  that  every  three  or  four  acres  must 
have  a  man  to  turn  the  scale  against  nature  and  keep 
it  turned. 

MOORLAND  PLANTS. 

I  wish  to  discuss  certain  peculiarities  of  the  very 
commonest  plants  of  our  Yorkshire  moors.  It  would 
be  a  great  help  if  I  could  take  it  for  granted  that  my 
readers  knew  the  most  easily  ascertained  facts  respect- 
ing these  plants.  But  it  is  only  those  who  call 
themselves  botanists  who  have  attempted  to  study  the 
structure  of  our  wild  flowers.  The  rest  of  the  public, 
99  per  cent,  or  more  of  the  whole  number,  keeps  aloof 
and  never  attends  to  these  things. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  the  public  has  one  excellent 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  209 

reason  for  giving  up  Botany  as  a  hopeless  task,  and 
that  is,  that  the  botanists  obstinately  persist  in  speak- 
ing a  language  of  their  own.  We  ought  to  have,  as  they 
have  in  Germany,  descriptions  of  native  plants  in  our 
own  language,  but  we  prefer  to  write  our  Floras  in  Latin 
and  Greek.  I  believe  that  this  practice  is  unnecessary, 
and  further,  that  it  is  the  greatest  obstacle  in  the  way 
of  a  wide-spread  knowledge  of  the  subject. 

As  a  very  young  man  I  used  to  defend  the  learned 
language  of  Botany  and  Zoology,  and  I  know  pretty 
well  the  arguments  that  can  be  used  in  favour  of  it. 
But  when  I  came  to  teach  Natural  History  to  others, 
I  quickly  felt  what  a  hindrance  the  language  is  to 
those  (the  vast  majority,  of  course)  who  read  no  Latin 
or  Greek.  Only  a  very  few  ever  come  to  master  it, 
and  most  of  those  few  are  the  worse  for  what  they 
seem  to  have  gained.  For  the  technical  terms  are 
allowed  to  count  as  real  knowledge.  The  student 
with  much  labour  learns  to  apply  his  rules  of  nomen- 
clature to  natural  objects,  and  then  thinks  that  he  has 
made  a  step  towards  understanding  the  objects  them- 
selves. Very  often  he  has  only  interposed  a  fresh 
barrier  between  his  own  mind  and  the  world  of  nature. 
Learned  words  easily  disguise  the  want  of  observation 
and  thought.  You  may  set  down  all  the  formulas 
respecting  a  plant  that  ingenious  pedantry  can  devise, 
and  yet  know  nothing  about  it  that  signifies.  The 
more  learned  the  phrase  the  easier  it  is  to  deceive 
yourself.  With  few  exceptions  every  result  of  the 
study  of  nature  which  is  at  once  well-ascertained  and 
important  can  be  adequately  expressed  in  plain 
English  ;  it  is  only  the  insignificant  or  half  understood 

P 


210 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


facts  that  call  for  technical  expression.  Elementary 
teaching  in  particular,  which  should  be  solely  con- 
cerned with  what  is  well-ascertained  and  important, 
can  always  be  carried  on  in  English. 

I  should   much  like  to  see  a  British  Flora  which 
would  be  intelligible  without  a  dictionary  to  anybody 


FIG.  56. — Ling  (Calluna  vulgaris).     a,  a  leafy  branch,  magnified  ;   b,  a  leaf, 
from  below  ;  c,  cross-section  of  leaf. 


who  would  first  take  the  trouble  to  master  the  structure 
of  half  a  dozen  plant-types.  The  thing  could  be 
done,  and  if  done  in  a  human  way,  without  respect  to 
the  scruples  of  highly  special  students,  would  ck)  much 
to  enlarge  the  body  of  working  naturalists. 

The  very  commonest  plant  of  the  moors  is  Ling, 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  211 

one  of  the  Heaths.  When  we  speak  of  Heather,  it  is 
this  plant  which  we  mean.  The  stem  is  woody,  tough 
and  dry,  branching  continually,  and  never  attaining  a 
considerable  height  It  is  densely  clothed  with  leaves. 
The  leaves  are  very  small  and  pointed  ;  they  spring 
one  exactly  beneath  another,  in  four  rows,  which  run 
at  equal  distances  up  the  stem.  Each  leaf  is  hollow 
above  and  prominent  below,  so  that  when  the  row 
closes  up,  as  it  does  at  certain  seasons,  the  leaves  fit 
neatly  together.  A  glance  at  the  actual  plant  will 
reveal  the  arrangement  at  once,  but  as  the  parts  are 
minute,  a  lens  should  be  employed  to  aid  the  eye. 
Why  do  the  leaves  overlap  ?  I  suppose  because  they 
can  thus  screen  one  another  from  the  air.  If  the  air 
is  very  dry  or  very  cold,  the  leaves  will  be  protected 
by  the  smallness  of  their  exposed  surface.  Young 
and  tender  leaves  are  often. protected  by  close  packing, 
but  in  Heather  the  arrangement  is  lasting,  and  can  be 
turned  to  account  at  any  time. 

Heather  is  a  singularly  dry  plant,  and  for  this  reason 
it  is  very  slow  to  wither.  Breaking  the  stem  across 
makes  little  difference  to  the  leaves  and  flowers  for  a 
long  time,  for  the  stem  transmits  very  little  water. 
Heather  is  eminently  fit  to  endure  summer  drought, 
which  is  one  serious  incident  in  the  life  of  moorland 
plants,  though  possibly  not  the  most  trying  of  all. 

The  Crowberry,  which  grows  so  plentifully  on  the 
moors,  is  often  taken  to  be  a  kind  of  Heath,  and  it 
really  looks  like  a  Heath,  being  of  low,  trailing  habit, 
with  wiry  stems  and  crowded,  evergreen  leaves.  The 
flowers,  however,  differ  conspicuously  from  those  of 
any  true  Heath. 

P   2 


212 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


FIG.  57. — Crowberry  (Einpetrum  nigruiji).  a,  a  staminate  flowering  branch,  slightly 
enlarged  ;  t>,  part  of  pistillate  flowering  branch  ;  c,  a  single  staminate  flower ; 
d,  a  single  pistillate  flower. 

Crowberry   flowers   early   in  the   season,    often  in 
April,  and  then  the  male  flowers  show  their  crimson 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  213 

stamens.  So  much  pollen  is  emitted  by  the  small 
but  numerous  flowers,  that  in  walking  over  a  patch  of 
Crowberry  we  kick  up  clouds  of  yellow  dust.  Such 
abundance  of  pollen  points  to  wind-fertilisation.  Hazel, 
Grasses,  Pines,  and  other  wind-fertilised  plants  pro- 
duce immense  quantities  of  pollen,  nearly  all  of  which 
is  wasted.  Insects,  if  guided  exactly  to  the  right 
place  by  the  formation  of  the  flower,  bring  the  pollen- 
grains  surely  and  accurately  to  the  stigma.  Economy 
of  this  precious  dust  is  the  reward  of  the  flowers 
which  are  able  to  win  the  co-operation  of  Insects.  It 
is  not  every  clump  of  Crowberry  which  yields  pollen. 
About  half  of  the  plants  bear  blackish-purple  female 
flowers  instead  of  stamens.  There  are  also  a  few 
flowers  with  both  stamens  and  pistil.  The  pistil 
ripens  to  a  small  black  fruit,  which  is  harmless  and 
even  refreshing  when  there  is  nothing  larger  or  better- 
flavoured  to  be  had.  Grouse  devour  it  in  large 
quantities,  and  thus  sow  the  seeds  up  and  down. 

The  leaves  of  Crowberry  are  well  worth  careful 
examination.  They  are  smooth  and  glossy.  At  first 
sight  we  should  say  that  they  were  rather  succulent, 
but  on  pinching  them  we  find  that  they  are  not 
succulent,  only  a  little  inflated.  Along  the  middle  of 
the  under  surface  runs  a  white  line,  which  we  might 
take  for  a  midrib.  But  if  we  examine  the  leaf  with  a 
lens,  or  better  still,  slice  it  across  with  a  razor,  we  find 
that  the  blade  is  bent  round  into  a  hollow  cylinder, 
and  that  the  white  line  is  the  meeting-place  of  the 
edges.  Only  one  surface  of  the  leaf  is  exposed,  that 
surface  which  in  ordinary  leaves  is  uppermost.  This 
is  smooth  and  shining  in  Crowberry,  and  curves 


214 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


completely  round,  ending  along  the  white  line.  The 
proper  lower  surface,  which  bears  the  stomates,  is 
rolled  inwards  and  concealed  from  view.  Several  of 
our  true  Heaths  have  the  leaves  rolled  in  somewhat 
the  same  fashion,  and  in  the  Crossleaved  Heath  the 


FIG.  58. — Cross-section  of  Leaf  of  Crpwberry,  showing  the  rolled-up  form.  The 
lower  figures  show  one  of  the  peculiar  hairs  and  one  of  the  stomates.  Both  are 
confined  to  the  inner,  which  is  properly  the  under-surface. 


edges  almost  meet.  Andromeda  polifolia,  the  Cran- 
berry, and  certain  rare  British  Heaths  (Phyllodoci 
cccrulea,  Loiseleuria  procumbens)  also  have  their  leaves 
more  or  less  rolled  backwards  in  the  same  fashion,  so 
that  this  seems  to  be  a  feature  common,  though  by  no 
means  universal,  among  moorland  plants.  Moorland 


MOORLAND  PLANTS 


215 


plants  which  are  not  Heaths  or  Crowberries  occasion- 
ally roll  up  their  leaves.  A  certain  Grass  (Nardus 
slrictd)  which  forms  close  tufts  of  fine,  wiry,  grey 


FIG.  59. — Cross-leaved  Heath  {Erica  tetralix).     a,  a  flowering  branch  ;  6,  part  of 
ditto,  magnified  ;  c,  a  leaf  seen  from  the  under-side  ;  d,  section  of  leaf. 

leaves,  is  one  of  these,  and  its  leaves  look  wiry  or 
even  bristle-like,  because  they  are  rolled  into  slender 
and  rather  stiff  hollow  cylinders. 

This  contrivance  of  leaf-rolling  seems  to  be  intended 


216  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

to  prevent  the  drying-up  of  the  leaf  during  summer 
heat  or  parching  wind.  The  stomates,  by  which 
water-vapour  is  transpired,  open,  not  upon  a  free 
surface,  but  into  a  closed  chamber,  in  which  the  air  is 
still,  being  further  secured  against  frequent  change  by 
numerous  hairs,  which  project  into  it  and  guard  the 
opening.  The  exposed  surface  of  the  leaf  bears  no 
stomates,  and  is  overspread  by  a  layer  of  cork,  which 
renders  it  impervious  to  moisture.  That  Crowberry 
is  really  effectively  protected  against  drought  there 
can  be  no  doubt  I  gathered  a  plant  in  May,  and 
hung  it  up  in  my  study.  After  eight  days  it  was  still 
green,  and  capable  of  forming  new  buds  when  placed 
in  damp  earth.  I  have  never  known  Crowberry  or 
Nardus  to  perish  by  drought. 

Kerner,  in  his  Natural  History  of  Plants,  has  dis- 
cussed the  possible  uses  of  the  rolled  leaves  of  the 
Crowberry  and  other  plants.  He  thinks  that  they 
keep  the  evaporating  surface  dry,  and  allow  air  to  be 
exhaled  from  the  leaf  even  when  it  is  drenched  with 
rain.  One  explanation  does  not  absolutely  exclude 
the  other  ;  it  is  conceivable  that  the  rolled  leaf  may 
be  serviceable  under  the  opposite  conditions  of  too 
wet  and  too  dry.  But  I  am  inclined  to  think  that 
the  leaf  would  not  be  rolled  up  so  completely  if 
exclusion  of  water  were  the  main  object.  A  far  less 
elaborate  contrivance  suffices  in  other  cases  to  keep 
the  under-surface  of  a  leaf  dry. 

Another  consideration  inclines  me  to  look  upon  the 
rolled  leaf  as  specially  a  protection  against  drought  < 
and  excessive  transpiration.     The  in-rolled,  stomate- 
bearing  surface  is  often  notably  reduced.     Striking 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  217 

examples  could  be  quoted  of  Heaths  and  moorland 
Grasses  in  which  it  becomes  insignificant  in  comparison 
with  the  exposed  outer  surface,  which  is  rendered 
impervious  by  its  dense  cuticle. 

Crowberry  seems  then  to  furnish  a  simple  case 
of  adaptation  to  a  particular  contingency  of  moor- 
land life,  viz.,  summer  drought.  The  adaptation 
appears  less  interesting,  perhaps,  because  it  seems 
so  obvious.  We  may  think  that  we  could  have 
devised  such  a  mechanism  ourselves.  But  we  have 
not  yet  got  quite  to  the  bottom  of  the  question,  and 
I  fear  that  it  will  grow  darker  as  we  proceed  to 
accumulate  facts.  The  problems  of  Nature  are  seldom 
ridiculously  easy. 

It  will  occur  to  those  botanists  who  have  gathered 
Andromeda  or  the  Cranberry  that  these  plants  are 
little  liable  to  drought.  Crowberry  and  the  Cross- 
leaved  Heath  often  grow  on  sandy  slopes  or  among 
stones,  where  in  dry  weather  there  is  no  visible 
moisture.  In  summer  heats  there  are  few  drier  places 
than  moorland  ridges.  Being  high,  they  receive  no 
water  from  rivulets,  but  only  direct  from  the  sky  ;  there 
are  no  deep  alluvium,  no  matted  grasses,  no  over- 
hanging trees  to  keep  in  the  water  of  the  soil.  The 
wind  blows  constantly,  and  parches  the  soil  still  more. 
But  the  moors  are  not  altogether  dry.  They  are 
traversed  by  hollows,  perhaps  with  a  floor  of  boulder- 
clay  or  shale,  and  these  are  often  choked  with 
Sphagnum  moss,  which  cuts  off  the  natural  outlet. 
In  such  hollows  no  summer  heat,  no  east  winds  ever 
suffice  to  dry  the  soil,  and  these  are  the  favourite 
haunts  of  Andromeda  and  the  Cranberry.  Yet 


2i8  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Andromeda  and  the  Cranberry  furnish  good  examples 
of  the  rolled-up  leaves,  which  we  thought  appropriate 
to  an  unusually  dry  soil. 

The  common  Rush  (Jimcus)  is  notoriously  a  native 
of  wet  places,  and  is  often  found  growing  in  pools 
which  never  dry  up.  Yet  it  has  some  features  in 
common  with  what  are  called  the  "  Xerophilous " 
plants,  which  live  in  places  subject  to  drought,  and 
which  are  specially  protected  against  undue  evapora- 
tion from  the  leaves.  The  Rush  has  its  leaves  reduced 
to  sheaths,  which  invest  the  base  of  the  stem.  The 
stem  takes  upon  itself  the  functions  of  a  leaf,  turns 
green,  and  is  provided  with  stomates.  It  is  a  cylinder, 
which  of  all  much  elongated  solid  figures,  exposes  the 
smallest  surface  in  proportion  to  its  volume ;  it  is 
nearly  upright,  and  therefore  little  liable  to  be  scorched 
by  the  noon-day  sun.  If  we  were  to  reason  from 
herbarium  specimens  only  as  to  the  habits  of  this 
plant  (a  most  dangerous  form  of  speculation)  we 
might  easily  set  down  the  Rush  as  a  native  of  some 
desert  tract,  which  had  suppressed  its  leaves  to  escape 
perishing  by  drought. 

The  Rush,  like  Ling  and  Crowberry,  has  a  very  dry 
stem.  The  interior  is  filled  with  pith,  which  greatly 
exceeds  in  bulk  the  green  layer  on  the  outside.  It 
would  seem  that  moorland  plants  are  liable  to  suffer 
from  too  much  water  as  well  as  from  too  little.  This 
is  pretty  certainly  the  case  with  the  Rush,  which  grows 
in  the  wettest  of  the  moor. 

Goebel  (x)  has  described  for  us  in  a  very  interesting 

1  Pflanzenbiologische  Schilderungen.    IV.     "  Die  Vegetation 
der  Venezolanischen  Paramos." 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  219 

paper  the  vegetation  of  the  Venezuelan  Paramos. 
The  Venezuelan  Andes,  an  eastern  branch  of  the 
main  chain,  rise,  he  tells  us,  out  of  marshy,  densely 
wooded  lowlands.  Starting  from  these,  and  continually 
ascending  through  the  zones  of  vegetation  described 
by  Humboldt,  the  traveller  at  last  reaches  the  highest 
tract  which  supports  plant  life.  Here  all  is  wild. 
The  trees,  crippled  even  at  lower  levels  by  the  cold 
winds,  are  replaced  by  shrubs  with  small,  leathery 
leaves,  and  these  at  length  give  up  the  struggle.  At 
heights  corresponding  to  the  higher  summits  of  the 
European  Alps  the  only  vegetation  is  scanty,  dwarfish, 
and  adapted  to  a  rugged  climate.  This  highest  zone 
of  plant  life,  which  on  certain  peaks  is  cut  off 
above  by  the  snow-line,  is  the  Paramos,  and  Goebel 
defines  it  for  scientific  purposes  as  the  zone  between 
the  upper  limit  of  trees  and  the  snow-line.  It  is  a 
region  of  cold  winds  and  sudden  changes  of  tempera- 
ture. Heavy  dews,  and  showers  of  rain  or  hail  are 
frequent.  The  sun  shines  bright  at  times,  but  is  apt  to 
be  suddenly  obscured  by  dense  fogs.  Pools  and  bogs 
are  common,  and  there  is  no  lack  of  water  anywhere. 
The  great  height  and  the  consequent  rarefaction  of  the 
air  promote  rapid  evaporation,  which  is  intensified  by 
winds  which  are  described  as  peculiarly  cutting.  The 
temperature  rarely  falls  to  freezing-point. 

In  such  a  climate,  and  the  very  description  makes 
us  shiver,  Man  would  no  doubt  claim  an  extra  great- 
coat Quadrupeds,  if  there  are  any,  would  be  all  the 
better  for  thick  fur.  What  kind  of  protection  can  we 
suggest  for  the  plants  which  strive  to  subsist  under 
conditions  so  unpleasant  ? 


220  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

The  plants  of  the  Paramos  are  low,  an  obvious 
advantage  where  the  wind  is  cold  and  boisterous. 
Many  form  rosettes  of  leaves ;  some  of  them  lay 
up  stores  of  food  underground  ;  a  few,  and  these  are 
characteristic  members  of  the  Paramos  flora,  carry 
their  rosettes  on  stunted  pedestals  (stems)  which  are 
clothed  with  dead  leaves.  The  leaves  of  all  the  plants 
are  small,  sometimes  reduced  to  needles  ;  some  are 
rolled-in,  others  woolly,  others  leathery  ;  a  few  are 
pressed  close  against  the  stems  which  support  them. 
We  find  in  the  vegetation  of  the  Paramos  all  the 
characteristic  features  of  a  xerophilous  flora,  except 
that  succulent  plants  (like  Stonecrops)  are  few  or 
wanting.  Bleak  winds,  it  would  appear,  produce  much 
the  same  effect  upon  plants  as  drought. 

Goebel  expressly  maintains  this  proposition,  that  a 
low  temperature  with  wind  produces  the  effect  of 
drought,  and  cites  such  instances  as  the  drying-up  of 
our  European  grasses  in  winter,  when  the  ground  is 
saturated  with  water.  In  the  Paramos  certain  plants 
with  woolly  leaves  actually  grow  in  bogs.  On  the 
Roraima  Mountains  (between  Venezuela  and  British 
Guiana,  as  we  used  to  suppose)  is  a  small-leaved 
Myrtle,  which  might  be  supposed  from  its  appearance 
to  be  adapted  to  a  dry  situation  ;  it  really  lives  in 
the  spray  of  a  waterfall,  but  then  the  water  is  ice- 
cold. 

The  plantations  about  my  house  testify  to  the 
scorching  effect  of  wind.  To  the  windward  side, 
which  here  is  the  west,  the  evergreens  were  terribly 
punished  by  the  frost  of  last  spring,  but  on  the  leeward 
side  many  of  them  are  quite  uninjured,  and  have  since 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  221 

pushed  out   their  buds   vigorously,  but   on  this  side 
only. 

We  can  readily  understand  the  drying  effect  of 
wind,  especially  at  great  elevations,  but  drying  due  to 
low  temperature  is  less  familiar.  Sachs  long  ago 
experimented  on  the  power  of  absorption  of  roots  at 
various  temperatures.  He  found  that  in  certain 
plants  (Tobacco)  the  leaves  drooped  when  the  tem- 
perature fell  nearly  to  freezing-point,  although  the  soil 
was  damp  enough.  Turnips  and  Cabbages,  which 
are  naturally  hardier,  as  natives  of  cold  countries, 
endured  the  same  temperature  without  visible  check 
More  extended  observation  has  shown  that  plants 
cannot  absorb  water  even  from  a  wet  soil  unless  a 
minimum  temperature,  varying  according  to  the 
species,  is  attained.  The  maximum  of  absorption  is 
got  with  a  warm  soil,  and  in  certain  experiments  the 
soil  is  artificially  warmed  to  promote  absorption  by 
plants.  Not  only  is  absorption  checked  by  cold,  but 
water  already  absorbed  may  prove  superfluous  and 
even  dangerous.  A  cold  wind  or  a  night-frost  pro- 
duces most  damage  when  the  ground  has  been  warm 
and  absorption  abundant.  Some  plants  have  a 
mechanism  expressly  devised  to  meet  this  contin- 
gency. At  the  tip  of  the  leaf  or  leaflet  are  large 
water-pores,  which  discharge  drops  of  water  when 
sudden  cold  renders  the  quantity  of  water  previously 
absorbed  excessive.  Many  grasses  and  Alchemilla 
(Lady's  Mantle)  have  such  water-pores,  and  if  a  cold 
night  should  succeed  to  a  warm,  damp  day,  they 
exude  big  drops,  which  are  confounded  with  dew  by 
thoughtless  people.  Dew  forms  only  beneath  a  cloud- 


222  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

less  sky  and  in  minute  drops.  Exuded  water  appears 
whether  the  sky  is  clear  or  clouded,  and  forms  large 
drops  at  a  few  points. 

Here  I  will  throw  in  a  few  remarks  upon  the 
watering  of  gardens.  The  gardener  never  waters  when 
the  sun  is  high,  nor  when  a  cold  night  is  to  be 
expected.  He  would  waste  his  labour  if  he  were  to 
sprinkle  the  ground  when  the  sun  is  sure  to  come  and 
dry  up  a  great  part  of  the  water  almost  as  soon  as  it 
reaches  the  soil.  Moreover,  energetic  absorption  and 
transpiration,  suddenly  induced  without  reference  to 
the  physiological  conditions  of  the  plants,  is  a  strong 
measure  which  often  turns  out  ill.  In  such  a  climate 
as  ours  it  is  better  to  submit  to  the  hardships  of  the 
changing  seasons,  which  are  seldom  intolerable, 
rather  than  make  violent  and  capricious  changes  in 
the  supply  of  moisture.  To  water  before  a  cold  night 
may  be  much  more  serious  than  .to  water  in  a  blaze  of 
sunshine.  The  plants  will  be  unable  to  absorb  the 
water  largely  because  of  the  low  temperature,  and 
what  they  do  absorb  may  be  distinctly  injurious. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  remark  that  the  compara- 
tive dryness  of  plant  tissues  in  cold  weather  is  the  best 
and  safest  thing  for  them  ;  the  mere  frequency  of  dry 
tissues  in  living  plants  during  winter  would  be 
conclusive  on  this  head.  Dry  shoots  and  boughs, 
which  do  not  bleed  when  cut,  will  face  the  hardest 
frosts  known  in  Europe  ;  but  in  spring,  when  they  are 
loaded  with  water  and  watery  fluids,  they  will  be 
blighted  by  a  temperature  only  a  few  degrees.,  below 
freezing-point. 

My  own  garden  has  lately  shown  me  how  a  cold 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  223 

wind  may  injure  plants  with  young  leaves  full  of 
watery  juices.  The  terrace  in  front  of  the  house  was 
not  long  ago  covered  with  healthy  plants  sending 
up  plenty  of  vigorous  shoots.  Three  or  four  days  of 
north  wind  came  on  (middle  of  May)  and  the  plants 
were  scorched  and  blighted.  Now  they  look  as  if  a 
sheet  of  flame  had  passed  over  them  ;  the  tips  of  the 
shoots  are  dead,  the  leaves  curled  and  blackened  at 
their  edges.  No  watering  would  have  saved  them, 
nor  even  diminished  the  injury. 

Kihlman  has  specially  noted  the  effect  of  dry,  cold 
winds  in  his  account  of  the  vegetation  of  Russian 
Lapland.1  Even  marsh-plants,  he  tells  us,  perish  from 
drought  in  the  dry  wind-storms  of  early  spring,  and 
the  trees  of  Lapland  are  regularly  cut  down  to  the 
level  at  which  they  are  protected  by  the  deep  snow  of 
winter. 

These  considerations  may  well  induce  us  to  enlarge 
the  interpretation  which  we  first  put  upon  the  peculiar 
structure  of  the  Crowberry-leaf.  It  is  admirably 
protected  against  drought,  it  is  true,  but  not  against 
drought  only.  It  is  equally  well  protected  against 
cold,  and  against  cutting  winds,  which  would  set  up  a 
forced  transpiration  when  the  roots  were  unable  to 
raise  water  from  the  dampest  soil. 

I  am  therefore  inclined  to  look  upon  Crowberry,  the 
Cross-leaved  Heath,  the  Cranberry,  Andromeda  and 
the  Rushes  as  needing  protection  against  cold  quite  as 
much  as  against  summer  drought  We  may  expect 
to  confirm  or  refute  this  supposition  by  studying  the 

1  Pflanzenbislogische  Studien  aus  Russisch-Lappland.  Acta 
Soc.  pro  fauna  et^flora  Fennica.  Tom.  VI.  (1891). 


224  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

distribution  of  these  plants  outside  the  British  Isles. 
A  little  inquiry  brings  to  light  the  fact  that  the  Ling, 
Bilberry,  Cranberry,  Cowberry,  Andromeda,  Crow- 
berry,  together  with  the  commonest  moorland  grasses, 
all  extend  far  into  the  Arctic  Circle,  the  Scotch  Heath 
and  the  Cross-leaved  Heath  close  up  to  it.  The 
defences  of  which  they  mainly  stand  in  need  are 
defences  against  Arctic  and  Alpine  cold,  but  these 
are  effective  also  against  the  drought  of  an  English 
summer.  Drought  and  cold  and  wind  all  tend  to  parch 
the  tissues  or  at  least  to  cut  off  the  supply  of  water 
taken  in  by  the  roots,  and  diminished  transpiration  is 
the  remedy  of  nature  for  all  three  contingencies. 

To  make  this  clearer  I  will  enumerate  the  defences 
of  desert  plants  against  extreme  drought,  and  append 
to  each  a  short  list  of  Arctic,  or  at  least  high  northern 
plants  which  exhibit  the  same  feature. 

Xerophilous  or  desert  plants  often  exhibit  one  or 
more  of  the  following  features  : — 

1.  The  leaves  are  reduced,  rudimentary,  or  wanting 
altogether.     Among   Arctic  or  high  northern  plants 
various  species  of  Juncus  (Rush)  yield  examples  of 
the   same   thing.      Furze    (which,   however,    is    not 
Arctic)  has  trefoil   leaves  as  a    seedling,  which  are 
afterwards  replaced  by  spines,  which  contain  chloro- 
phyll and  possess  stomates.     Pines,  Juniper  and  many 
Heaths  have  the  leaves  much  reduced  in  size. 

2.  The  leaves  are  rolled  up.     Crowberry,  etc.,  are 
Arctic  examples. 

3.  The  leaves  are  closely  imbricate,  or  pressed  against 
the  stem,  or  pressed   against  the  ground,  in  the  last 
case  usually  forming  rosettes.     All  these  arrangements 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  225 

diminish  the  free  surface  of  the  leaves.  Heather, 
many  Saxifrages  and  Sedums  are  northern  forms 
belonging  to  this  class. 

4.  The     leaves     are    woolly.      The    Edelweiss    of 
Switzerland  is  an  Alpine  example  of  the  same  thing. 

5.  The  leaves  are  succulent.     The  Sedums  of  our 
northern  highlands  exhibit  the  same  adaptation. 

Goebel  has  pointed  out  that  maritime  and  saline 
plants  often  exhibit  contrivances  which  check  trans- 
piration, even  in  plants  which  are  abundantly  supplied 
with  water.  Samphire  is  possibly  a  case  in  point,  but 
the  rocky  situations  in  which  it  grows  are  arid  as  well 
as  maritime,  and  it  is  not  certain  that  its  peculiarities 
depend  upon  its  being  wetted  occasionally  with  salt 
spray.  The  Glass-worts  are  a  better  example,  as 
they  grow  on  muddy  sea-shores.  They  have  the 
leaves  suppressed  and  the  stems  fleshy,  like  so  many 
plants  of  the  desert.  The  little  Frankenia,  found  in 
salt  marshes  on  our  south-east  coast,  has  rolled  leaves, 
like  Crowberry.  Thickened  epidermis,  woolly  leaves, 
and  concealed  stomates  are  also  to  be  found  among 
the  plants  of  the  sea-shore.  Here,  though  water 
is  plentiful,  it  can  only  be  procured  by  separating  it 
from  salts  which  greedily  absorb  water  and  do  not 
readily  part  with  it. 

The  one  point  common  to  maritime  and  Alpine 
plants,  I  mean  the  difficulty  which  they  have  in 
absorbing  water,  however  abundant  the  supply, 
may  possibly  have  something  to  do  with  a  fact,  long 
known  and  often  speculated  upon,  viz.  that  certain 
species  are  found  in  both  situations.  Scurvy-grass, 
Sea-thrift,  Sea  Plantain  and  Sea  Pearlwort  are 

Q 


226  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

examples.  We  find  all  these  among  the  Yorkshire 
hills  and  on  the  sea-coast,  but  in  no  intermediate 
places.  The  plant  which  has  been  acclimatised  to  one 
of  these  habitats  is  thereby  adapted  to  face  the  most 
serious  difficulties  of  the  other. 

Hindered  transpiration  points  to  a  limited  supply  of 
water,  which  may  arise  in  various  ways,  (i)  Water 
may  be  deficient  altogether,  as  in  the  desert,  or 
on  rocks  and  loose  stones.  (2)  Water  may  be  plenti- 
ful, but  absorbed  with  difficulty  because  of  low 
temperature.  (3)  Water  may  be  plentiful,  but 
absorbed  with  difficulty  because  of  salts  dissolved 
in  it.  The  Crowberry  and  our  other  native  moorland 
plants  are  efficiently  protected  against  contingencies 
i  and  2,  of  which  the  second  is  probably  the  more 
frequent  and  serious. 

A  considerable  proportion  of  our  moorland  plants 
(Ling,  Crowberry,  Nardus,  Juncus,  Cranberry,  etc.) 
are  evergreen.  In  this  the  moorland  flora  resembles 
that  of  high  northern  regions.  I  am  not  quite  certain 
why  a  large  part  of  the  more  conspicuous  plants  of 
cold  regions  should  be  evergreen.  The  explanation 
may  be  that  even  during  the  summer  the  conditions 
require  checks  to  transpiration,  and  that  these  checks, 
once  developed,  enable  the  plant  to  endure  winter  con- 
ditions without  loss  of  leaves.  The  glossy  cuticle,  the 
simple  form,  the  reduced  size,  the  dry  texture,  and 
the  concealed  stomates,  which  are  common  features  of 
leaves  exposed  to  sun  and  wind,  form  a  great  part  of 
the  special  equipment  of  an  evergreen. 

But  there  are  puzzling  exceptions  to  the  evergreen 
habit.  Take  the  British  Heaths  (Ericacea)  for 


MOORLAND  PLANTS  227 

example.  Of  the  genus  Vaccinium  two  species,  the 
Cranberry  and  the  Cowberry,  are  evergreen,  but  the 
Bilberry l  and  V.  uliginosum  are  not  ;  Arbutus  is  ever- 
green ;  one  species  of  Bearberry  has  evergreen,  the 
other  deciduous  leaves ;  Andromeda,  Erica  (five 
species),  Calluna  (Ling),  Dabeocia,  Phyllodoce, 
Loiseleuria  and  the  five  species  of  Pyrola  are  all 
evergreen.2 

As  to  the  Bilberry,  which  is  one  of  the  few  deciduous 
Ericaceae,  it  is  to  be  remarked  that  it  is  not  a  charac- 
teristic moorland  plant,  but  overspreads  the  grassy 
borders  of  the  moors,  where  it  chiefly  competes  with 
Ling  and  the  grass  Nardus.  In  spring  and  early 
summer  the  quick  growth  of  the  Bilberry  shoots 
enables  them  to  overtop  its  rivals,  and  thus  to  get  an 
advantage  which  lasts  all  through  the  season.  When 
winter  approaches,  the  Bilberry  gives  up  the  struggle, 
casts  its  leaves,  and  appears  to  die  down.  It  does 
not  really  do  so,  however.  The  younger  stems  remain 
green,  and  as  they  are  provided  with  numerous 
stomates,  they  no  doubt  assimilate  during  the  short 
hours  of  winter  sunshine.  In  summer  the  deciduous 
leaves  of  Bilberry  can  safely  expand  far  more  freely 

1  The  leaves   of  Bilberry   often   remain   green   through  the 
winter    in    sheltered    places,   but   elsewhere   they  are  usually 
deciduous. 

2  The  word  evergreen  does  not  always  bear  precisely  the  same 
meaning.     It   is  applied  to   leaves  which  are  able  to   endure 
frost,  and  last   through  a  great  part  or  the  whole   of  winter, 
being  all  renewed  at  once  in  spring.     Most  of  the  Ericaceae 
are  only  evergreen  in  this  sense.     In  other  cases  the  leaves  are 
changed  a  few  at  a  time,  usually  in  summer.     The  tree  is  never 
bare,  and  the  leaves  may  last  more  than  one  year. 

Q  2 


228  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

than  those  of  its  evergreen  rivals,  which  are  necessarily 
minute,  and  this  may  possibly  be  a  consideration  of 
weight. 

The  leafy  shoots  of  Ling  and  Bilberry,  which  seem 
to  spring  out  of  crannies  between  rocks,  are  sometimes 
borne  upon  long  woody  stems,  which  have  made  their 
way  up  from  a  considerable  distance.  In  rocky  places 
what  look  like  tufts  of  low  shrubs  are  sometimes  the 
tops  of  small  trees.  I  have  traced  some  of  the  ancient, 
woody  stems  for  many  feet  among  the  loose  stones. 

It  is,  I  think,  worth  while  to  attend  to  any  peculiar 
features  of  particular  plants  and  animals,  and  to 
interpret  them  as  well  as  we  can.  But  our  interpre- 
tations are  never  complete.  We  see  some  way  into 
the  problem,  and  then  are  baffled  by  our  ignorance 
and  by  the  complexity  of  the  case.  We  can  rarely 
apply  the  experimentmn  crucis,  or  find  decisive  in- 
stances. There  is  always,  or  nearly  always,  as  Goebel 
says,  some  unknown  quantity  which  decides  why  of 
two  plants  similarly  situated,  one  will  show  conspicuous 
adaptations  to  its  surroundings,  while  the  other  will 
not.  For  this  reason  the  methods  of  biological  inquiry 
are  apt  to  be  loose  in  comparison  with  the  methods  of 
the  physical  sciences.  In  order  to  prove  that  the 
height  of  the  mercury  in  the  barometer  depends  upon 
the  pressure  of  the  air,  we  try  to  show  that  among 
varying  conditions  of  moisture,  temperature,  light  and 
so  forth,  the  height  of  the  mercury  goes  up  or  down 
as  one  of  these  conditions,  viz.,  the  atmospheric 
pressure,  increases  or  diminishes.  If  it  appeared  that 
the  mercury  was  largely  influenced  by  heat,  or  that 
while  some  mercurial  barometers  rose  and  fell  accord- 


THE  LOVE  OF  MOUNTAINS  229 

ing  to  pressure,  others  of  rather  different  construction 
rose  and  fell  according  to  the  intensity  of  the  sunlight, 
the  present  doctrine  of  barometric  changes  would  be 
destroyed.  The  barometer  is,  so  to  speak,  actuated 
by  a  single  string.  But  plants  and  animals  are  things 
of  complex  behaviour ;  they  are  actuated  by  many 
strings,  and  we  never  know  when  we  have  found  them 
all  out.  This  is,  I  imagine,  why  what  I  have  called 
"  negative  exceptions "  prove  little  or  nothing  in 
Biology.  You  find  that  pulling  a  particular  string 
produces  a  certain  action  upon  A.  But  B  has  no  such 
string,  though  you  can  give  no  good  reason  why  it  has 
not.  Rare  indeed  are  the  cases  in  which  we  can 
reason  out  a  direct  test,  by  which  our  biological 
speculations  are  to  stand  or  fall.  Complexity,  un- 
fathomable complexity,  on  the  part  of  Nature,  and 
ignorance  on  our  side,  preclude  decisive  experiments. 
But  in  a  humble  way  we  may  observe,  and  speculate, 
and  try.  We  shall  not  get  the  certainty  of  physical 
demonstration,  but  we  may  hope  in  time  to  become 
reasonably  sure  of  interpretations  more  directly  in- 
teresting to  mankind  than  any  other  conclusions  of 
Science — more  interesting  because  they  bear  so 
immediately  upon  the  great  and  mysterious  problems 
of  Life. 


THE  LOVE  OF  MOUNTAINS. 

August  i. — Simon's  Seat,  between  Barden  and 
Pately  Bridge,  is  one  of  the  chief  hills  in  this  part  of 
the  country,  rising  to  near  1,600  feet  above  sea-level. 
I  have  been  to  the  top,  to  look  once  more  at  the 


230  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

saddle-like  arrangement  of  the  rocks,  discovered  by 
Mr.  Dakyns  of  the  Geological  Survey,  and  described 
with  figures  in  Prof.  Green's  Physical  Geology.  The 
ascent  is  a  delightful  one,  wood  and  water  alternating 
with  moor  and  grassy  slopes.  The  way  leads  through 
Bolton  Woods  and  the  Valley  of  Desolation.  There 
is  considerable  variety  in  the  composition  of  the  rocks, 
which  means  variety  in  the  vegetation  and  variety  in 
the  animal  life.  I  know  of  no  better  botanising 
ground.  Insects  and  Birds  are  plentiful,  and  the  very 
streams  are  full  of  life. 

To  take  pleasure  in  such  a  ramble  up-hill,  for  we 
can  hardly  call  it  mountaineering,  is,  I  believe,  a  dis- 
covery of  modern  times.  Xenophon  writes  as  if  he 
enjoyed  a  hunt  upon  Mount  Pholoe.  He  must  have 
appreciated  the  exhilaration  which  springs  from 
active  exercise  in  the  open  air.  Hunting  on  'foot  he 
praises  as  good  for  the  health,  the  eyesight  and  the 
hearing.  He  thinks  it  an  excellent  way  of  keeping 
off  old  age,  and  training  the  body  for  the  hardships  of 
war.  But  he  gives  no  hint  that  he  ever  went  out  on  a 
hillside  without  dog  and  net.  It  is  the  hollows,  the 
plains,  the  woods  and  the  rivers,  which  Virgil  chiefly 
loves.  The  Alps  struck  the  ancients  with  horror 
though  they  delighted  in  the  soft  scenery  of  the 
Italian  lakes. 

Perhaps  the  first  man  who  ever  climbed  a  mountain 
in  order  to  gaze  from  the  top,  and  then  wrote  an 
account  of  what  he  had  seen,  was  Petrarch.  Living  at 
Vaucluse,  near  Avignon,  curiosity  moved  him  and  his 
brother  to  ascend  the  Mont  Ventoux,  a  low  Alp, 
under  7,000  feet.  They  were  warned  by  an  old 


THE  LOVE  OF  MOUNTAINS  231 

shepherd  that  no  one  had  been  up  the  mountain  for 
fifty  years,  and  that  nothing  was  to  be  seen  upon  it 
but  rocks  and  brambles.  Still  they  persevered,  and 
at  length  stood  on  the  summit.  The  view  was 
superb.  The  Alps  seemed  close  at  hand  ;  the  sea, 
the  valley  of  the  Rhone  and  the  mountains  about 
Lyons  were  in  full  view.  Petrarch's  thoughts  ran 
much  upon  the  mountains  famous  in  literature,  upon 
Olympus  and  Athos,  and  Hannibal's  passage  of  the 
Alps.  After  a  time  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a 
volume  of  St.  Augustine,  and  lit  upon  words  which 
rebuked  those  who  wonder  at  the  mountains,  the  sea, 
and  the  stars,  but  neglect  themselves.  He  descended 
in  silence,  reflecting  that  there  is  nothing  admirable 
except  the  mind. 

Gray's  diary  of  a  tour  in  the  North  of  England, 
though  written  as  late  as  1769,  is  among  the  earlier 
indications  of  interest  in  wild  scenery.  Till  then  the 
hills  had  been  despised  for  their  barrenness,  and 
dreaded  for  their  ruggedness  and  danger.  It  was 
only  when  better  police  and  better  roads  had  driven 
away  fear  that  men  began  to  make  mountains  their 
playground. 

Rousseau's  Nouvelle  Helo'ise  (1760)  may  be  said  to 
have  first  awakened  a  lively  interest  in  Swiss  scenery. 
Within  forty  years  of  the  publication  of  that  novel 
more  than  sixty  descriptions  of  travels  in  Switzerland 
appeared.  Gibbon  in  1785  was  astonished  at  the 
crowds  of  English  who  haunted  the  lake  of  Geneva. 
Goethe  and  Byron  drew  inspiration  direct  from 
Rousseau,  and  later  writers,  who  perhaps  never  read 
Rousseau  attentively,  such  as  Renan  and  Ruskin, 


232  ROUND  THE  \EAR 

exhibit  that  sentiment  of  Nature  which  was  hardly 
known  until  Rousseau's  writings  had  pervaded 
Europe. 

Our  English  Lakes  began  to  be  overrun  by  tourists 
late  in  the  last  century,  as  we  learn  from  Scott 1  and 
Wilberforce.2  At  first  the  visitors  seem  to  have  kept 
mostly  to  the  lower  and  safer  ground  ;  the  narrative 
which  follows  marks  the  close  of  the  unadventurous 
age.  By  1805  almost  all  the  summits  of  the  Lake 
hills  had  become  familiar  to  thousands  of  active 
Englishmen. 

In  the  History  of  Cumberland,  by  William  Hutchin- 
son,3  a  highly-coloured  description  is  given  of  an 
ascent  of  Saddleback.  Those  who  know  the  mountain 
only  on  its  Keswick  side  should  understand  that  to 
the  S.  and  E.  it  is  much  more  abrupt.  Sharp  Edge 
might  even  be  dangerous  to  an  inexperienced  climber 
with  a  weak  head.  The  summit  is  only  2,850  feet  above 
sea-level.  The  description  follows  : — 

"  A  friend  has  indulged  us  with  the  following  de- 
scription of  his  view  of  Saddleback,  and  the  curious 
crater  and  lake  there,  where  the  lava  of  a  vulcano  is 
unquestionably  to  be  found  in  large  quantities.  His 
tour  was  made  in  1793. 

"  He  speaks  with  great  respect,  in  the  first  instance, 
of  one  Mr.  John  Graves,  who  gave  him  the  earliest 
description  of  those  scenes,  and  excited  his  curiosity 
to  visit  them  ;  and  of  Mr.  Thomas  Clement,  a  resident 
of  the  skirts  of  the  mountain,  who  attended  him  and-' 

1  Guy  Mannermg,  Chap.  XVI. 

2  Life,  Vol.  I.,  p.  183. 

3  2  vols.,  Carlisle,  1794.     See  Vol.  I.,  p.  423. 


THE  LOVE  OF  MOUNTAINS  233 

his  party  on  the  view.  .  .  .  He  says  Mr.  Clement 
lives  about  a  mile  and  a  half  eastward  of  Threlkeld, 
at  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  from  whose  house  the 
party  proceeded  about  one  o'clock,  p.m. — That  they 
made  their  passage  in  an  oblique  direction  up  that 
part  which  is  called  Scales-fell :  and  he  proceeds  in 
his  description  thus  : — '  When  we  had  ascended  about 
a  mile,  one  of  the  party,  on  looking  round,  was  so 
astonished  with  the  different  appearance  of  objects  in 
the  valley,  so  far  beneath  us,  that  he  declined  pro- 
ceeding. We  had  not  gone  much  further,  till  the 
other  companion  (of  the  relator)  was  suddenly  taken 
ill,  and  wished  to  loose  blood,  and  return.  I  was 
almost  ready  (adds  he)  to  give  up  my  project,  which 
I  should  have  done  with  -great  reluctance,  as  the  day 
was  remarkably  favourable,  and  exhibited  every  scene 
to  the  greatest  advantage. — Mr.  Clement  assured  us,  if 
we  proceeded  a  little  way,  we  should  find  a  resting  place, 
where  the  second  defaulter  of  our  party  might  recover 
the  effects  of  his  journey.  After  labouring  another 
half  hour,  we  gained  the  margin  of  an  immense  cavity 
in  the  side  of  the  mountain,  the  bottom  of  which 
formed  a  wide  bason,  and  was  filled  with  water,  that 
from  our  station  looked  black,  though  smooth  as  glass, 
covering  the  space  of  several  acres.  It  is  said  to  be 
so  deep,  that  the  sun  never  shines  upon  it,  and  that 
the  reflection  of  the  stars  may  be  seen  therein  at 
noonday  ;  but  that  was  a  curiosity  we  did  not  enjoy. 
From  our  station  there  was  a  gentle  declivity  to  a 
smooth  and  verdant  lawn,  several  yards  in  breadth, 
which  was  the  situation  our  guide  had  promised  us  ; 
and  the  descent  thereto  led  us  about  half  way  to  the 


234  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

lake :  a  like  easy  descent  would  have  led  us  to  the 
edge  of  the  lake,  round  which  there  appeared  a  broad 
green  walk  ;  but  our  leader  informing  us  of  the  danger 
of  passing  that  slippery  path,  we  did  not  proceed. 
We  now  contemplated  the  scene  with  awstruck- 
wonder.  We  stood  directly  facing  the  middle  of  the 
mountain,  the  form  of  which  gives  it  the  name  of 
SADDLEBACK  :  and  to  the  lake,  a  perpendicular  rocky 
precipice  presented  itself,  extending  to  the  north-east 
side  of  the  mountain,  called  Foul-cragg.  To  the  right 
hand,  the  steepness  of  the  rocks  gradually  declined  ; 
above  us,  and  on  the  left,  they  were  stupendous  and 
perpendicular ;  so  that  in  one  half  of  the  circle  the 
rocks  were  lofty  and  precipitous,  whilst  in  the  other 
half  they  gradually  decreased.  My  fellow  traveller 
would  proceed  no  further,  and  with  my  guide  I  was 
left  to  explore  the  other  parts  of  the  mountain. 
Winding  round,  and  keeping  the  cavity  on  our  right, 
we  attained  the  ridge  or '  summit  of  the  rock,  where 
we  found  a  passage  three  or  four  yards  broad  :  on  the 
right,  the  descent  to  the  lake  looked  truly  awful, 
whilst  the  steep  rocks  on  the  other  side  were  lofty, 
and  not  to  be  climbed  by  human  steps.  This  passage, 
some  hundred  yards  in  length,  may  be  compared  to  a 
bridge  covered  with  grass.  Having  reached  the 
summit,  we  went  to  the  point  nearest  to  Keswick 
vale,  and  there  enjoyed  a  most  delightful  prospect ; 
from  thence  we  passed  to  the  next  point,  being  Foul- 
cragg,  with  Skiddaw  on  the  left ;  from  whence  we 
looked  down  into  a  dreadful  abyss,  the  bottom  of 
which  the  eye  could  not  penetrate :  sheep  frequently 
perish  in  this  place,  as  the  number  of  dead  carcasses 


THE  LOVE  OF  MOUNTAINS  235 

and  skeletons  evinced.  We  walked  back  by  the  side 
next  to  the  lake,  but  to  look  down  from  thence  was  so 
terrible,  I  could  not  endure  it  a  moment.  We  per- 
ceived from  thence,  that  my  companion,  whom  we  had 
last  left,  was  laid  upon  the  ground  ;  I  pressed  the 
guide  to  hasten  to  him,  but  he  refused,  alledging  that 
a  fog  was  rising,  and  it  would  be  very  hazardous  for 
me  to  explore  my  way  alone  down  the  mountain  :  in 
a  short  time  we  were  enveloped  in  a  very  dense 
vapour,  so  that  we  were  obliged  to  keep  near  to  each 
other ;  the  sudden  change  was  almost  incredible.  It 
was  with  difficulty  my  guide  regained  the  passage,  or 
dry-bridge,  which  we  missed  on  several  attempts  ;  and 
one  incautious  step  would  have  plunged  us  in  the 
horrid  abyss.  The  fog  soon  afterwards  dispersed,  as 
precipitately  as  it  came  on  ;  and  left  us  again  under  a 
serene  sky.  We  passed  to  the  foot  of  Foul-cragg,  to 
view  its  wonderful  precipices  from  their  base  ;  and 
again  safely  reached  Mr.  Clement's  house,  after  a 
laborious  travel  of  four  hours.' " 

A  plate  in  the  History  shows  Skiddaw  as  a  volcanic 
crater,  while  Saddleback  is  a  hill  which  positively 
overhangs  on  one  side.  So  greatly  did  the  Lake  hills 
impress  the  imaginations  of  that  generation  !  Green 
and  Otley,  in  their  ascent  of  Sharp  Edge,  found  them- 
selves "  reduced  to  the  necessity  either  of  bestriding 
the  ridge  or  of  moving  on  one  of  its  sides,  with  our 
hands  lying  over  the  top,  as  a  security  against  falling 
into  the  tarn  on  the  left,  or  into  a  frightful  gully  on 
the  right,  both  of  immense  depth." 

Years  ago  I  used  to  read  these  old  narratives  with 
unqualified  amusement.  But  a  solemn  feeling  now 


236  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

mingles  with  my  recollections  of  the  innocent  little 
peaks  of  our  familiar  Lake-country.  On  Dec.  31, 
1893,  in  the  height  of  his  manly  strength,  and  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  his  great  gifts  as  an  investigator  and 
a  teacher,  Arthur  Milnes  Marshall  fell  from  near  the 
summit  of  Scawfell,  and  perished  in  a  moment. 


THE  REVERSED  SPIRAL. 

The  tendrils  of  the  Red  Bryony  in  our  hedges  or 
of  the  Passion-flower  in  greenhouses  have  been  often 
admired  by  the  readers  of  Darwin.  When  our  eyes 
have  been  opened  by  the  penetrating  observations  of 
the  great  naturalist,  it  is  easy  to  appreciate  the  effec- 
tiveness of  the  slight  but  powerful  attachments  by 
which  the  tendril-bearer  draws  itself  up  to  its  support. 
An  unattached  tendril,  when  it  contracts,  forms  a 
spiral  running  in  one  direction  from  base  to  apex. 
But  a  tendril  which  has  grasped  a  fixed  object  be- 
comes wound  from  right  to  left  in  one  part  of  its 
length,  and  from  left  to  right  in  the  remainder,  a  short 
straight  portion  uniting  the  two  spirals  (fig.  60). 
Darwin  points  out  that  the  spiral  spring  gives  great 
elasticity  to  the  tendril,  a  valuable  quality  in  stormy 
weather.  The  Bryony  rides  out  the  gale  with  a  long 
range  of  cable  paid  out.  But  why  is  the  spiral  re- 
versed? Darwin  explains  that  every  turn  in  the 
spiral  twists  the  tendril  once.  Thirty  turns  in  the 
same  direction  would  twist  the  tendril  thirty  times  in 
succession.  No  tendril  of  ordinary  length  could  stand 
so  much  twisting ;  it  would  inevitably  snap  across. 


THE  REVERSED  SPIRAL 


237 


But  every  turn  in  the  opposite  direction  takes  off 
twist,  and  a  tendril  twisted  fifteen  times  from  right 
to  left  and  fifteen  times  from  left  to  right  is  not 
strained  at  all. 

There  is  another  advantage  in  the  reversed  spiral ; 


\^~ 

FIG.  60.— Red  Bryony,  with  two  tendrils,  one  free,  the  other  clinging  to  a  branch  of 
Hawthorn. 

it  can  be  pulled  out  straight  without  a  kink.  Pull  at 
the  ends  of  a  continuous  spiral,  and  the  turns  cannot 
be  effaced,  though  they  may  be  reduced  to  as  many 
twists. 


238  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

The  reversed  spiral  seems  therefore  to  be  one  of  the 
most  perfect  contrivances  in  Nature.  I  think  I  see 
Darwin's  admiration  of  it  in  many  of  his  expressions.1 
Nevertheless  Darwin,  like  Mohl  before  him  and  Sachs 
after  him,  was  aware  that  the  reversal  of  the  spiral  is 
a  mechanical  necessity.  When  a  band  whose  ends 
are  not  permitted  to  revolve  has  a  tendency  to  curl, 
and  consequently  to  form  spirals,  it  can  only  form  a 
reversed  spiral.  This  is  most  easily  demonstrated  by 
taking  a  long  ribbon  of  sheet  brass,  and  winding  it 


Fig.  61. — Strip  of  sheet  brass,  which  has  wound  itself  into  a  reversed  spiral. 

into  a  close  coil,  as  one  would  wind  a  tape  measure. 
If  one  end  of  such  a  coil  is  pulled  out,  it  will  take  the 
form  of  a  continuous  spiral.  Unroll  the  entire  coil, 
and  hold  out  the  ribbon  straight  and  flat.  Then 
gradually  relax  the  pull.  The  tendency  to  coil  will 
throw  the  ribbon  into  spiral  turns,  the  middle  point 
will  revolve,  and  for  every  turn  from  right  to  left  a 
turn  from  left  to  right  will  appear.  The  reversed 
spiral  is  not  a  contrivance  at  all  ;  it  is  a  mechanical 
necessity  when  a  band  whose  ends  are  not  free  to 
revolve  is  thrown  into  coils. 

The  reversed  spiral  is  often  found  in  Nature  where 
an  elastic  spring  would  be  quite  unnecessary."   It  is 
1  Climbing  Plants,  Chap.  IV. 


THE  REVERSED  SPIRAL 


239 


simply  a  convenient  way  of  coiling  a  tube  which  has 
greatly  increased  in  length  while  its  ends  were  fixed. 
The  intestine  of  the  Tadpole  is  at  first  straight. 
Afterwards  it  grows  very  long,  to  suit  the  vegetarian 
diet  of  the  young  animal.  This 
long  tube  must  needs  be  coiled, 
for  the  space  into  which  it  has 
to  be  crowded  is  small.  Being 
fixed  at  both  ends  it  cannot 
be  coiled  continuously  in  one 
direction.  The  watch-spring 
coil,  which  represents  the  in- 
testine of  the  Tadpole  in 
many  standard  books,  is  a 
mechanical  impossibility. 

The  colon  of  a  Ruminant 
is  extremely  long,  and  having 
lengthened  while  the  ends  were 
fixed,  it  is  coiled  in  a  reversed 
spiral.  It  lies  nearly  in  one 
plane,  and  winds  inwards  in  a 
regular  spiral  to  the  centre ; 
then  reverses  its  course,  and 
winds  outwards  between  its 
former  turns.  The  pattern  is 
very  characteristic,  and  im- 
mediately recognised  a  second 
time.  I  remember  seeing  it 
depicted  over  and  over  again  in  Italian  pictures 
of  the  torments  of  the  damned.  At  the  Campo 
Santo  at  Pisa  and  elsewhere,  the  entrails  practised 
upon  by  demons  are  shown  with  this  Ruminant 


FIG.  62.— Under- side  of  Tad- 
pole showing  the  intestine 
with  its  reversed  spiral 
through  the  transparent 
body-wall.  From  Howes' 
A  Has  of  Biology. 


240  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

feature.  The  kids,  which  an  Italian  butcher  hangs  up 
at  his  door  with  all  the  viscera  exposed,  soon  made  it 
clear  where  the  old  painters,  careless  of  comparative 
anatomy,  had  got  their  reversed  spirals.  The  intestine 
of  a  Pond  Mussel,  the  vasa  deferentia  of  Crustaceans 
and  many  other  organs  of  various  animals  furnish 
examples  of  the  same  thing. 


GOSSAMER. 

Sept.  9,  1894. — A  calm,  bright  autumn  day.  At 
sunrise  the  sky  was  clear,  and  the  air  perfectly  still. 
The  sun  shone  uninterruptedly  through  most  of  the 
morning,  but  in  the  afternoon,  haze  and  thin  clouds 
were  prevalent.  During  the  day,  light  and  variable 
winds  alternated  with  perfect  calm.  The  evening  was 
clear,  with  a  gentle  northerly  breeze. 

At  breakfast-time  this  morning  the  lawn  was 
covered  with  dewy  cobwebs,  and  on  walking  out  a 
little  later,  they  were  found  to  overspread  the  fields, 
lanes  and  thickets.  Most  of  the  webs  were  deserted, 
but  here  and  there  dead  or  living  Insects — chiefly 
Aphides  and  small  flies — were  entangled  in  them. 
There  were  also  very  many  threads  attached  at  both 
ends,  traces  probably  of  the  ordinary  excursions  of 
a  variety  of  Spiders,  rendered  unusually  distinct  by 
the  fine  globules  of  dew.  Small  and  apparently 
immature  Spiders  were  occasionally  seen,  in  one  or 
two  cases  in  little  companies.  They  paid  no  attention 
to  the  captured  Insects,  but  travelled  along  the* webs. 
As  the  sun  got  higher,  the  Spiders  became  more 


GOSSAMER  241 

numerous,  as  if  they  had  crept  from  their  retreats,  and 
they  were  more  active  than  before.  About  an  hour 
before  noon,  the  day  being  now  warm  and  the 
thermometer  at  62°,  very  many  Spiders  were  running 
busily  to  and  fro.  They  were  chiefly  bent  upon 
mounting  some  elevated  object,  and  hardly  any  tall 
weed,  straw,  gate-post  or  boulder  could  be  examined 
without  finding  one  or  more  Spiders  climbing  upon  it 
They  were  not  all  of  one  size,  nor  all  of  one  species. 
Though  very  slightly  acquainted  with  the  classification 
of  Spiders,  I  think  I  may  venture  to  say  that  at  least 
three  species  were  represented.  There  were  a  few 
large  and  probably  old  Spiders  in  the  throng,  but 
these  took  no  part  in  the  manoeuvres  next  to  be 
described. 

Having  gained  a  post  of  vantage,  every  little 
Spider  reared  itself  upon  its  legs,  and  emitted  one 
or  more  threads.  I  could  not  decide  whether  the 
threads  ever  emerged  separately  from  the  body,  as 
this  could  only  be  ascertained  by  a  very  close 
examination  with  a  powerful  lens,  and  the  Spiders 
were  too  timid  and  wary  to  allow  of  this.  In  some 
cases,  the  threads  merely  crossed  one  another,  and 
adhered.  Attus  is  said  to  emit  a  brush  of  threads  at 
once.  The  light  threads,  so  fine  that  they  were 
completely  invisible  when  dry  and  single,  except  where 
the  sunlight  was  reflected  from  their  shining  surfaces, 
seemed  to  catch  the  gentlest  puff  of  air,  and  were  for 
the  most  part  extended  horizontally.  When  the  little 
Spider  felt  the  pull  of  the  threads,  she  let  go,  and  was 
wafted  along.  I  saw  some  steadily  ascend,  while 
others  fell  gently  to  the  ground.  In  the  course  of 

R 


242  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

about  an  hour,  perhaps  twenty  Spiders  were  observed 
to  ascend. 

By  noon,  the  number  of  Spiders  on  the  ground  had 
sensibly  diminished.  In  the  afternoon,  the  sky  being 
now  to  some  extent  overcast,  many  strips  and  patches 
of  web  were  seen  to  descend.  Though  very  numerous, 
they  were  by  no  means  conspicuous,  owing  to  the 
want  of  bright  sunshine.  I  remember  to  have  seen 
many  years  ago,  descending  flakes  of  gossamer 
glistening  in  the  sunlight ;  but  this  time  their  appear- 
ance was  not  striking  Any  person  who  walked  along 
intent  upon  business  would  have  neither  seen  nor  felt 
anything  of  the  gossamer. 

Next  day  something  of  the  same  kind  was  observed  ; 
but  the  numbers  of  the  Spiders  were  greatly  dim- 
inished. Several  fine  days  followed,  and  very  likely 
the  Spiders  congregated  and  took  flight  again.  Un- 
fortunately, I  was  too  much  occupied  to  attend  to 
them  ;  if  much  is  to  be  seen,  the  day  must  be  given 
up  to  observing. 

On  reading  what  Gilbert  White,  Blackwall  and 
other  naturalists  have  observed  about  gossamer,  I  find 
that  the  Spiders  which  rise  in  the  air  belong  to  many 
species  and  genera.  They  rise  only  in  still,  bright 
weather,  and  gossamer  in  the  air  is  always  preceded 
by  gossamer  on  the  ground.  September  and  October 
are  the  months  in  which  it  is  most  commonly  seen. 
The  Spiders  often  float  to  a  great  height,  several 
hundred  feet  at  least.  The  flight  cannot  be  directed 
or  regulated  by  the  Spider.  Spiders  never  voluntarily 
ascend  upon  webs,  but  only  on  fresh-spun  lines.  It  is 
unusual,  perhaps  unexampled,  for  good-sized  Spiders 


GOSSAMER  243 

to  ascend,  and  all  that  I  have  seen  were  so  small  as  to 
be  invisible-  without  close  attention,  the  body  being 
about  an  eighth  of  an  inch  long  or  less  ;  some  of  the 
floating  Spiders,  however,  though  of  small  size,  arc 
believed  to  be  adult. 

The  question  has  been  raised  whether  the  Gossamer 
Spiders  can,  strictly  speaking,  emit  threads  from  their 
spinnerets,  or  whether  wind  is  necessary  to  draw  out 
the  threads.  Blackwall l  gives  us  the  interesting 
results  of  his  experiments.  "  Having  procured  a  small 
branched  twig,  I  fixed  it  upright  in  an  earthen  vessel 
containing  water,  its  base  being  immersed  in  the 
liquid,  and  upon  it  I  placed  several  of  the  Spiders 
which  produce  gossamer.  Whenever  the  Insects  thus 
circumstanced  were  exposed  to  a  current  of  air,  either 
naturally  or  artificially  produced,  they  directly  turned 
the  thorax  towards  the  quarter  whence  it  came,  even 
when  it  was  so  slight  as  scarcely  to  be  perceptible, 
and  elevating  the  abdomen,  they  emitted  from  their 
spinners  a  small  portion  of  glutinous  matter,  which 
was  instantly  carried  out  in  a  line,  consisting  of  four 
finer  ones  with  a  velocity  equal  or  nearly  so,  to  that 
with  which  the  air  moved,  as  was  apparent  from 
observations  made  on  the  motion  of  detached  lines 
similarly  exposed.  The  Spiders,  in  the  next  place, 
carefully  ascertained  whether  their  lines  had  become 
firmly  attached  to  any  object  or  not,  by  pulling  at 
them  with  their  first  pair  of  legs  ;  and  if  the  result 
was  satisfactory,  after  tightening  them  sufficiently  they 
made  them  fast  to  the  twig  ;  then  discharging  from 
their  spinners,  which  they  applied  to  the  spot  where 
1  Linn.  Trans.,  Vol.  XV.,  p.  455  (1827). 

R  Z 


244  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

they  stood,  a  little  more  of  their  liquid  gum,  and  com- 
mitting themselves  to  these  bridges  of  their  own 
constructing,  they  passed  over  them  in  safety,  drawing 
a  second  line  after  them  as  a  security  in  case  the  first 
gave  way,  and  so  effected  their  escape.  Such  was  in- 
variably the  result  when  the  Spiders  were  placed 
where  the  air  was  liable  to  be  sensibly  agitated  :  I 
resolved  therefore  to  put  a  bell-glass  over  them  ;  and 
in  this  situation  they  remained  seventeen  days,evidently 
unable  to  produce  a  single  line  by  which  they  could 
quit  the  branch  they  occupied,  without  encountering 
the  water  at  its  base  ;  though  on  the  removal  of  the 
glass  they  regained  their  liberty  with  as  much  celerity 
as  in  the  instances  already  recorded.  This  experi- 
ment, which,  from  a  want  of  due  precaution  in  its 
management  has  misled  so  many  distinguished 
naturalists,  I  have  tried  with  several  of  the  Geometric 
Spiders,  and  always  with  the  same  success.  Placed 
under  the  bell-glass,  or  in  any  close  vessel,  they  in 
vain  endeavoured  to  make  their  escape  from  the 
branch  to  which  they  were  confined  ;  but  in  the 
disturbed  air  of  an  inhabited  room,  they  readily 
accomplished  their  object." 

The  rising  of  gossamer  has  been  attributed  to  the 
low  specific  gravity  of  the  Spider  and  to  imaginary 
causes  which  will  bear  no  investigation.  Since 
Blackwall's  researches  it  has  been  agreed  that  light 
currents  of  air  are  sufficient  to  explain  the  rise  of  fine 
filaments.  It  is  not  a  question  of  buoyancy,  but  of 
surface  in  proportion  to  weight.  The  webs  ..rise  for 
the  same  reason  that  fine  dust  rises  in  moving  air,  and 
fine  sediment  in  moving  water.  It  is  for  the  same 


GOSSAMER  245 

reason  that  impalpable  drops  of  water  form  mists  and 
clouds,  instead  of  sinking  at  once  to  the  earth.  The 
smaller  the  particles,  the  greater  the  ratio  of  surface  to 
volume,  the  greater  the  ease  of  transport  by  a  current, 
and  the  greater  the  resistance  to  falling  through  air  or 
water.  If  we  divide  a  sphere  into  spheres  of  -J,  J,  J, 
etc.,  the  original  diameter,  the  aggregate  surfaces 
increase  as  2,  3,  4,  etc.  The  same  is  true  of  a  cylinder 
or  any  other  figure,  provided  that  the  parts  are  similar 
in  shape  to  the  original  figure.  It  is  a  general  and 
well-known  law  that  the  surfaces  of  similar  figures 
increase  as  the  square,  but  the  volumes  or  weights  as 
the  cube  of  any  linear  dimension.  Hence,  if  the  scale 
is  enlarged,  the  weight  gains  upon  the  surface  ;  if 
reduced,  the  surface  gains  upon  the  weight.  Take  a 
knitting  needle  TV  inch  in  diameter.  Reduce  it  in  all 
its  dimensions  until  the  diameter  becomes  T0-J(nr  inch, 
which  is  of  the  order  of  fineness  of  a  thread  of 
gossamer.  The  surface  is  reduced  to  (roWo)2,  the 
weight  to  GoVW)3!  tnat  is>  tne  surface  gains  on  the 
weight  about  625  times.  The  actual  knitting-needle 
falls  quickly  through  the  air,  while  the  reduced 
knitting-needle,  if  we  could  make  such  a  thing,  would 
fall  slowly,  for  the  resistance  of  the  air  in  proportion  to 
the  weight  has  been  increased  625  times.  Not  only 
do  the  lightest  breezes  set  up  by  differences  of  atmos- 
pheric pressure  suffice  to  waft  the  Spiders,  but  they 
ascend  when  there  seems  to  be  no  movement  in  the 
air,  except  the  ascending  current  due  to  the  heated 
ground.  Such  currents  will  cause  soap-bubbles  to 
ascend,  which  will  not  rise  in-doors. 

Incomplete  information  prevents  us  from  clearing 


246  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

up  the  relation  of  these  aerial  excursions  to  the 
life-history  of  the  Spider.  The  circumstance  that  it  is 
largely  though  by  no  means  exclusively  immature 
Spiders  which  take  to  flight  connects  this  case  with 
the  larval  dispersal  of  very  many  marine  animals. 
The  heavy-armoured  adults  which  haunt  our  shallow 
seas  are  obliged  to  keep  near  the  same  spot,  and 
dispersal  is  effected  by  the  fresh-hatched  larvae,  which 
often  migrate  before  they  have  acquired  a  mouth 
or  stomach,  and  are  provided  with  temporary  loco- 
motive organs  for  this  very  purpose.  In  the  case  of 
land  animals,  where  the  weight  of  the  body  cannot  be 
supported  by  a  dense  medium,  locomotion  is  too 
difficult  to  be  effected  by  very  immature  individuals, 
and  only  full-grown  animals  migrate  ;  (Insects,  Frogs 
and  Birds  furnish  plenty  of  examples)  but  for  the 
peculiar  flight  of  Spiders  small  size  is  essential, 
and  this  one  circumstance  may  have  determined 
their  deviation  from  the  common  practice  of  land- 
animals. 

Spiders  often  protect  their  eggs  by  cocoons,  which 
may  be  laid  in  crevices  or  webs,  or  carried  about  by 
the  female.  The  fresh-hatched  young  often  creep 
about  within  such  a  cocoon  or  web  for  some  days, 
during  which  time  they  are  watched  over  by  their 
mother.  At  last  they  begin  to  seek  their  own  food, 
which  they  procure  by  hunting.  Probably  no  very 
young  Spider  is  able  to  make  a  snare.  By  the  end  of 
summer,  when  food  begins  to  be  scarce,  the  young 
Spiders  set  about  the  business  of  dispersal.  It..is  not 
likely  that  they  get  much  to  eat  until  the  following 
summer,  but  this  is  a  point  on  which  we  have  few  or 


GOSSAMER  247 

no  observations.  We  may  suppose  (until  the  point  is 
cleared  up),  that  they  retreat  to  hiding-places,  and  like 
older  Spiders,  endure  long  abstinence  with  impunity, 
procuring  chance  supplies  of  food  at  long  intervals. 
The  power  of  emitting  silken  threads  is  commonly 
used  in  the  excursions  of  the  young  Spider  to  enable 
it  to  climb  from  twig  to  twig,  before  it  is  turned  to 
account  in  aerial  voyages. 

So  long  an  interval  separates  the  hatching-out  of 
the  Spider  from  the  time  at  which  it  begins  to  make  a 
web  of  its  own  that  it  may  be  given  as  a  pure  case  of 
constructive  instinct.  There  is  no  parent  to  show  it 
how  webs  are  made,  nor  can  it  be  supposed  to 
remember  the  minute  details  of  the  web  in  which  it 
may  possibly  have  been  reared.  How  little  we  know, 
or  rather,  how  entirely  ignorant  we  are  of  the  means 
by  which  the  practical  experience  of  by-gone  genera- 
tions is  handed  down  to  animals  which  have  no 
occasion  to  apply  it  until  they  have  long  been 
separated  from  their  own  parents  ! 

Dr.  Lincecum  l  tells  us  that  the  mother  and  young  of 
the  Gossamer  Spider  of  Texas  ascend  together.  Prob- 
ably this  is  a  species  of  small  size. 

Darwin's  account  of  the  South  American  Gossamer 
Spiders  is  well  worth  reading.2  When  the  Beagle 
was  sixty  miles  distant  from  the  shore,  vast  numbers 
of  small  Spiders  settled  on  the  ship.  A  steady  though 
light  breeze  was  blowing  off-shore.  Each  Spider  was 
seated  on  a  single  thread.  All  were  of  one  species, 
but  of  both  sexes,  together  with  young  ones.  Another 

1  See  Amer.  Nat.,  Vol.  VIII.,  p.  593  (1874)- 

2  Naturalist's  Voyage,  Chap.  VIII. 


248  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

South  American  species,  observed  on  shore,  darted 
forth  four  or  five  threads  from  its  spinnerets,  which 
were  more  than  a  yard  long,  and  diverged  in  an 
ascending  direction.  The  Spider  then  suddenly  let  go 
its  hold,  and  was  quickly  borne  out  of  sight. 

FLOWER-HAUNTING  INSECTS. 

Sept.  29,  1895. — We  have  had  a  glorious  Sep- 
tember, hot  and  sunny.  But  for  one  thunder-shower 
there  has  been  no  rain,  and  for  several  days  past  the 
thermometer  has  regularly  exceeded  80°  F. 

I  have  been  noticing  with  some  care  the  Insects 
which  haunt  the  clumps  of  Asters  in  the  garden. 
There  are  Bees  of  at  least  seven  different  species, 
Wasps,  two  small  Beetles  in  scanty  numbers,  and  a 
host  of  Flies.  The  Red  Admiral  and  Small  Tortoise- 
shell  Butterflies  flutter  about  continually,  but  pay  no 
special  attention  to  the  Asters.  Among  the  Flies  I  have 
identified  two  common  species  of  Eristalis,  a  Volucella, 
a  Syrphus,  a  Dung-fly,  the  metallic-coloured  Lucilia 
Caesar,  the  Blow-fly  (Calliphora),  and  there  were  also 
several  small  Muscidae  which  I  did  not  examine. 

There  were  many  Insects  in  the  air,  chiefly  Diptera, 
which  did  not  alight  on  the  flowers.  I  was  able  to 
recognise  small  swarms  of  three  species  by  peculiarities 
of  hovering.  As  I  was  sitting  this  afternoon  in  the 
sun  with  a  book  on  my  knee,  small  Gossamer  Spiders 
now  and  then  descended  from  the  air  upon  the  page. 
I  have  not  seen  any  gossamer  on  the  ground  for 
several  days.  The  little  Psychodidae  abound  on  the 
window-pane. 


FLOWER-HAUNTING  INSECTS  249 

I  have  made  it  my  business  for  some  years  to  hunt 
out  the  larvae  of  our  common  Insects.  I  have  searched 
the  waters,  both  stagnant  and  flowing,  and  have  pried 
into  all  accumulations  of  decaying  organic  matter 
that  I  have  come  across.  I  have  particularly  attended 
to  the  early  stages  of  the  Diptera.  But  I  have  to 
confess  that  nineteen-twentieths  of  the  Diptera  now 
buzzing  about  in  my  garden  are  known  to  me,  if  at 
all,  only  as  items  in  a  catalogue.  No  doubt  a  large 
proportion  have  been  reared  close  at  hand.  But  they 
are  so  well  hidden,  and  the  naturalist  is  so  blind,  that 
it  is  only  when  he  sees  the  swarms  of  winged  Insects 
that  he  becomes  conscious  of  the  multitude  of  larvae 
and  pupae  which  he  has  overlooked. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Insects  of  very  different 
kinds  haunt  flowers  for  honey  or  pollen.  The  Insects 
just  enumerated  pass  the  larval  stage  in  various  situa- 
tions. Some  feed  on  green  leaves,  some  on  decaying 
animal  matter,  one  haunts  the  nests  of  Humble-bees 
as  a  parasite,  some  live  in  stagnant  pools.  But  though 
they  are  so  widely  separated  during  the  feeding-stage, 
the  quest  of  honey  brings  them  together,  as  soon  as 
they  have  got  their  wings. 

The  honey-sucking  Insects  are  mainly  Lepidoptera, 
Bees  and  Diptera.  With  unimportant  exceptions,  all 
Lepidoptera,  which  feed  at  all,  visit  flowers.  Bees 
make  the  greatest  use  of  honey  and  pollen,  feeding 
upon  it  in  all  stages.  They  possess  the  most  elaborate 
collecting  apparatus,  and  it  is  the  Bees  which  have 
acted  most  powerfully  upon  the  organisation  of  flowers. 
The  honey-sucking  Flies  are  few  in  number,  but  of 
considerable  practical  importance.  The  form,  colour, 


250  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

and  scent  of  some  orders  of  flowers  have  been  distinctly 
modified  in  consequence  of  their  visits.  As  a  rule  the 
Flies  have  a  short  proboscis  and  prefer  open  flowers, 
but  some,  like  Eristalis,  have  a  long  proboscis  and  can 
explore  tubular  flowers,  as  we  have  already  seen. 
Their  taste  in  colour  leads  them  to  prefer  pale,  "dull, 
or  speckled  flowers,  and  their  favourite  odours  are  un- 
pleasant to  man.  Bees  and  Moths  come  nearer  to 
ourselves  in  their  preferences,  both  as  to  colour  and 
scent 

It  is  a  striking  proof  of  the  importance  of  Insects 
in  nature  that  they  should  have  been  able  to  call  into 
existence  a  profusion  of  beautiful  flowers.  All  the 
flowers  of  the  garden  and  conservatory  are  in  a  sense 
the  work  of  Insects.  What  they  found  ready  to  hand 
was  a  multitude  of  green  or  dull-coloured  flowers  of 
small  size,  without  honey  or  scent ;  their  visits  have 
done  all  the  rest 

Flowers  have  done  as  much  for  Insects  as  Insects 
have  done  for  flowers.  Flowers  are  to  innumerable 
tribes  of  Insects  all  that  domestic  animals  and 
cultivated  plants  are  to  mankind.  Honey,  which  may 
be  considered  a  joint  product  of  the  flower  and  the 
Insect,  owes  its  great  value  to  three  properties.  It  is 
fluid,  it  is  highly  nutritious,  and  it  can  be  stored  with- 
out undergoing  putrefaction.  Its  fluidity  and  concen- 
tration render  it  particularly  suitable  as  a  food  for 
those  winged  Insects  which  lay  their  eggs  singly  or  a 
few  together  on  scattered  plants  of  one  species,  and 
which  must,  therefore,  spend  much  time  in  egg-Jaying. 
It  is  equally  advantageous  to  those  which  spend  much 
time  in  building  or  excavation.  Upon  the  fact  that 


FLOWER-HAUNTING  INSECTS  251 

honey  can  be  stored  depends  the  whole  domestic 
economy  of  Bees  and  certain  Ants. 

Honey-sucking  is  associated  with  the  highest 
faculties  possessed  by  Insects,  and  marks,  perhaps,  the 
highest  phase  in  their  evolution.  It  is  a  surprise  that 
Insects  with  so  complex  a  domestic  economy  as 
Wasps  and  Ants  should  be  able  to  dispense  with  it. 
Like  almost  all  Insects  they  are  fond  of  honey,  but  it 
is  seldom  their  chief  food.  The  Bees  have  discovered 
that  honey  can  be  converted  by  chemical  change  into 
wax  ;  the  gnawing  Wasps  make  paper  by  chewing 
vegetable  fibres,  and  use  that  in  their  architecture. 
The  Ants  have  sacrificed  their  wings,  for  the  sake,  it 
would  appear,  of  carrying  on  their  subterranean  work 
with  greater  ease.  They  have  paid  a  heavy  price  for 
this  advantage,  for  loss  of  wings  brought  about  their 
exclusion  from  flowers.  Ants  do  get  honey,  but  it  is 
by  precarious  means  and  in  small  quantities.  They 
will  drink  the  sweet  excretion  of  Aphides,  if  no  better 
supply  can  be  had.  Some  rifle  special  honey-glands  on 
the  leaves  of  plants,  which  appear  to  have  been  specially 
enlarged  as  a  consequence  of  their  visits.  Ants  are 
even  known  to  store  up  honey  in  subterranean 
receptacles,  the  most  singular  of  which  are  the 
enormously  dilated  crops  of  certain  individuals  of 
the  community  which  sacrifice  themselves  for  the 
general  good,  and  are  converted  into  globular 
honey-pots. 

Some  of  the  honey-sucking  Insects  which  are  not 
Hymenoptera  assume  so  much  of  the  form  and  colour 
of  Bees  or  Wasps  as  to  resemble  them  superficially. 
Species  of  Volucella,  Eristalis,  Syrphus,  Bombylius, 


2$2  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

Ceria  and  Conops  are  often  like  Bees  or  Wasps  in  size, 
in  colour  (brown  or  yellow-banded),  in  the  attitude  of 
the  resting  wings,  in  the  hairiness  of  the  body,  in  the 
narrow  waist,  and  in  the  telescopic  respiratory  move- 
ments of  the  abdomen.  I  have  experienced  what 
Reaumur  long  ago  described  when  capturing  some  of 
these  Insects.  Though  the  form  of  the  antennae  told  me 
quite  unmistakably  that  I  had  a  harmless  Fly  before 
me,  I  have  often  hesitated  to  grasp  it,  because  it  looked 
so  like  a  Bee  or  a  Wasp. 

The  mimicry  of  Bees  and  Wasps  by  stingless  Flies 
is  a  proof  of  the  protection  furnished  by  the  sting,  and 
of  its  wide  recognition  by  Birds.  If  Bees  and  Wasps 
were  not  generally  known  and  dreaded,  it  would  be  of 
no  advantage  to  resemble  them.  Other  flower- 
haunting  Insects  may  wear  the  colours  of  the  stinging 
Hymenoptera,  the  most  striking  examples  being  the 
Clear-winged  Moths,  which  lose  a  great  part  of  their 
wing-scales  immediately  after  emergence,  and  have 
the  abdomen  banded  like  a  Wasp  or  Hornet.  In  the 
same  way  certain  tropical  Hemiptera,  Beetles  and 
Spiders  closely  resemble  Ants,  which  are  dreaded  for 
the  tenacity  of  their  bite,  even  when  unprotected  by  a 
sting. 

TENNYSON  AS  A  NATURALIST. 

Oct.  26,  1895. — This  morning  I  went  out  eariy,  and 
found  that  a  touch  of  night-frost  had  left  its  mark 
upon  the  shrubs.  The  lines  from  In  Memoriam  came 
into  my  thoughts  :— 

"  And  Autumn  laying  here  and  there 
A  fiery  finger  on  the  leaves." 


TENNYSON  AS  A  NATURALIST  253 

Later  in  the  day  I  rambled  through  Bolton 
Woods.  I  passed  the  glowing  embers  of  a  fire  of 
weeds,  and  stopped  to  look  at  the  quivering  haze. 
Again  it  was  Tennyson  who  had  seen  the  poetical 
side  of  a  spectacle  so  common  :— 

"  All  the  rich  to  come 

Reels,  as  the  golden  Autumn  woodland  reels 
Athwart  the  smoke  of  burning  weeds." 

( The  Princess. ) 

In  the  evening  I  took  down  my  Tennyson,  and 
amused  myself  with  noting  some  of  the  many  passages 
which  show  his  knowledge  of  Nature. 

Tennyson  is  our  English  Theocritus.  It  would  be 
bold  to  claim  that  he  has  excelled  the  Sicilian  idyllist 
in  charm  or  knowledge  of  his  art,  but  it  is  not  ex- 
travagant to  say  that  he  has  given  to  the  grave  thoughts 
of  our  reflective  age  that  poetic  touch  with  which 
Theocritus  was  able  to  brighten  the  trivial  details  of  a 
simple  country  life.  Sometimes  Theocritus  has  been 
consciously  in  the  mind  of  the  English  poet,  as  in  that 
"  small,  sweet  Idyll  "  of  The  Princess.  Perhaps  no 
English  poet  since  Milton  had  read  to  such  purpose 
in  the  books  of  ancient  verse,  as  Tennyson.  That 
curiosity  which  led  him  to  glean  among  old  poets  has 
also  made  him  observant  of  Nature.  It  is  hard  to  find 
in  any  other  English  poet  so  many  of  the  graphic 
touches  which  show  knowledge  of  Nature  and 
sympathy  with  her.  Very  familiar  are  the  examples 
which  follow  : — 

"  Those  eyes 

Darker  than  darkest  pansies,  and  that  hair 
More  black  than  ashbuds  in  the  front  of  March." 
(Gardener's  Daughter.} 


254  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

"  And  her  hair 

In  gloss  and  hue  the  chestnut,  when  the  shell 
Divides  threefold  to  show  the  fruit  within." 

(The  Brook) 

"  Bring  orchis,  bring  the  foxglove  spire, 
The  little  speedwell's  darling  blue, 
Deep  tulips  dashed  with  fiery  dew, 
Laburnums,  dropping  wells  of  fire." 

(In  Memoriam) 

"  I  wept,  'tho'  I  should  die,  I  know 
That  all  about  the  thorns  will  blow 
In  tufts  of  rosy-tinted  snow. 

#  *  *  * 

Not  less  the  bee  would  range  her  cells, 
The  furzy  prickle  fire  the  dells, 
The  foxglove  cluster  dappled  bells." 

(The  Two  Voices) 

It  is  not  only  flowers  that  Tennyson  can  use  to 
enrich  his  verse.  I  remember  one  morning  after 
heavy  rain  climbing  the  old  St.  Gothard  road  as  the 
mists  clung  to  the  peaks,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if 
one  poet  only  had  seen  what  I  then  saw. 

"  The  summit's  slope 
Beyond  the  furthest  flights  of  hope, 
Wrapt  in  dense  cloud  from  base  to  cope. 

"  Sometimes  a  little  corner  shines, 
As  over  rainy  mist  inclines 
A  gleaming  crag  with  belts  of  pines." 

(The  Two  Voices) 

"  Leave 

The  monstrous  ledges  there  to  slope  and  spill 
Their  thousand  wreaths  of  dangling  water-smoke, 
That  like  a  broken  purpose  waste  in  air." 

(The  Princess) 


TENNYSON  AS  A  NATURALIST  255 

Now  and  then  the  flash  of  unfamiliar  analogy 
suggests  a  thought  new  to  poetry.  The  lines, 

"  Wearing  his  wisdom  lightly,  like  the  fruit 
Which  in  our  winter  woodlands  looks  a  flower," 

are  the  very  soul  of  that  Dedication,  which,  but  for 
the  Spindle-tree,  would  have  taken  a  quite  different 
and  less  vivid  turn.  The  verses  to  J.  S.  reach  their 
highest  point  when  they  bring  in  the  long-lasting 
summer  twilight  of  the  northern  shores,  never  turned 
to  such  poetic  service  before. 

"  His  memory  long  will  live  alone 

In  all  our  hearts  as  mournful  light 
That  broods  above  the  fallen  sun, 
And  dwells  in  heaven  half  the  night." 

There  is  no  deep  observation  but  a  pleasant 
humour  in  the  well-known  passage  : — 

"  When  the  lone  hern  forgets  his  melancholy, 
Lets  down  his  other  leg,  and  stretching,  dreams 
Of  goodly  supper  in  the  distant  pool." 

(Gareth  and  Ly netted) 

Tennyson's  natural  history  allusions  have  not  quite 
escaped  criticism.  Mr.  J.  E.  Harting 1  points  out  two 
slips.  In  "  The  Poet's  Song  "  we  used  to  read  : — 

"  The  swallow  stopt  as  he  hunted  the  bee," 
and  in  In  Memoriam  these  lines  occur : — 

"  Where  now  the  seamew  pipes,  or  dives 
In  yonder  greening  glade." 

The  swallow  does  not  hunt  bees,  and  no  gull  pipes 
or  dives. 

1  Zoologist i  1893,  p.  145, 


256  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

That  Tennyson's  use  of  natural  fact  depends  upon 
real  sympathy  is  clear  to  all  who  observe  how  the 
animals  and  flowers  which  throng  his  written  fancies 
render  each  its  due  service.  What  desolation  Tennyson 
adds  to  "  Aylmer's  Field  "  by  the  mention  of  the  shy 
creatures  which  come  back  to  their  ancient  haunts, 
after  the  wilful  lord  has  undone  the  last  of  his 
race : — 

"  And  where  the  two  contrived  their  daughter's  good, 
Lies  the  hawk's  cast,  the  mole  has  made  his  run, 
The  hedgehog  underneath  the  plantain  bores,    ' 
The  rabbit  fondles  his  own  harmless  face, 
The  slow-worm  creeps,  and  the  thin  weasel  there 
Follows  the  mouse,  and  all  is  open  field." 

The  stanza, 

"  When  rosy  plumelets  tuft  the  larch, 
And  rarely  pipes  the  mounted  thrush, 
Or  underneath  the  barren  bush 
Flits  by  the  sea-blue  bird  of  March," 

sets  the  larch  and  the  kingfisher  of  early  spring  in  their 
corner  of  the  canvas  with  the  sprightliness  and  the  sure 
touch  of  Rosa  Bonheur.  The  tapestry  which  hung 
the  rooms  of  the  Palace  of  Art  is  a  real  gallery  of 
pictures,  which  many  a  lover  of  poetry  knows  by 
heart.  I  quote  one  verse  only. 

"  One  showed  an  iron  coast  and  angry  waves. 
You  seemed  to  hear  them  climb  and  fall 
And  roar  rock-thwarted  under  bellowing  caves, 
Beneath  the  windy  wall." 

Among  a  crowd  of  other  examples    which    press 


TENNYSON  AS  A  NATURALIST  257 

for  remembrance   I  find  it  impossible  to   pass   over 
these :— 

"  So  dark  a  forethought  roll'd  about  his  brain, 
As  on  a  dull  day  in  an  ocean  cave 
The  blind  wave  feeling  round  his  long  sea-hall 
In  silence." 

(Merlin  and  Vivien?) 

"  O  sound  to  rout  the  brood  of  cares, 

The  sweep  of  scythe  in  morning  clew, 

The  gust  that  round  the  garden  flew, 

And  tumbled  half  the  mellowing  pears  ! " 

(In  Memoriam.} 

"  Unwatch'd,  the  garden  bough  shall  sway, 
The  tender  blossom  flutter  down, 
Unloved,  that  beech  will  gather  brown, 
This  maple  burn  itself  away  ; 

rt  Unloved,  the  sun-flower,  shining  fair, 

Ray  round  with  flames  her  disk  of  seed, 
And  many  a  rose-carnation  feed 
With  summer  spice  the  humming  air." 

(In  Memoriam.} 

"  By  night  we  linger'd  on  the  lawn, 
For  underfoot  the  herb  was  dry  ; 
And  genial  warmth  ;  and  o'er  the  sky 
The  silvery  haze  of  summer  drawn  ; 

"  And  calm  that  let  the  tapers  burn 
Unwavering  :  not  a  cricket  chirr'd  : 
The  brook  alone  far  off  was  heard, 
And  on  the  board  the  fluttering  urn  : 

"  And  bats  went  round  in  fragrant  skies, 
And  wheel'd  or  lit  the  filmy  shapes 
That  haunt  the  dark,  with  ermine  capes 
And  woolly  breasts  and  beaded  eyes  ; 

S 


258  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

"  While  now  we  sang  old  songs  that  peal'd 

From  knoll  to  knoll,  where,  couch'd  at  ease, 
The  white  kine  glimmer'd  and  the  trees 
Laid  their  dark  arms  about  the  field." 


Wordsworth,  Burns  and  Shakespeare  share  this 
loving  appreciation  of  Nature.  I  do  not  find  it  in 
Shelley,  though  the  general  voice  gives  it  to  him. 
Gray  comes  near  to  it  once  or  twice,  as  here  :— 

"  The  red-breast  loves  to  build  and  warble  there, 
And  little  footsteps  lightly  print  the  ground." 

Thomson  has  his  successes,  mostly  happy  words, 
but  they  are  the  gems  of  a  rhetoric  whose  lustre  is  not 
always  real.  Pope's  rhapsody  about  the  moonlight 
(for  Homer  has  little  share  in  it)  won  high  praise  from 
more  than  one  generation.  To  us  it  is  nothing  but 
magnificent  declamation  ;  no  observant  person  could 
describe  moonlight  so. 

The  examples  from  Tennyson,  which  of  course 
illustrate  only  one  side  of  his  poetic  endowment,  charm 
us  partly  by  their  terse  characterisation  of  what  we  all 
know,  but  never  attended  to  before,  but  still  more  by 
their  feeling  for  the  human  aspect  of  Nature.  It  is 
not  rocks,  clouds,  flowers  and  birds  which  chiefly 
engage  the  poet's  mind,  but  the  relation  of  these  to 
the  thoughts  and  hopes  of  Man  ;  they  are  intertwined 
with  the  history  of  a  man's  life.  The  reality  of  the 
observation,  the  reality  of  the  feeling,  save  Tennyson 
from  the  common  faults  of  those  who  show  knowledge 
in  their  poetry  ;  he  is  never  pedantic,  nor  whimsical, 
nor  cold. 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER     259 

THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER. 

Familiar  as  it  is,  there  are  few  works  of  nature  which 
better  repay  careful  study  than  a  feather.  Its  adapta- 
tion to  its  purpose  is  complete ;  it  is  strong,  light, 
flexible  and  elastic  ;  its  concave  surface,  which  in  the 
case  of  a  quill,  is  turned  towards  the  inside  of  the 
wing,  or  towards  the  under-side  of  the  tail,  catches  the 
air,  while  the  convex  surface  allows  the  air  to  glide 
past  with  little  resistance.  The  feather  resembles 
a  host  of  other  natural  contrivances  in  this,  that 
the  more  we  study  it,  the  greater  wealth  of  contrivance 
we  discover.  It  is  wonderful  enough  when  we  merely 
hold  it  in  the  hand,  and  examine  it  by  the  unaided 
eye,  but  a  pocket-lens  brings  out  further  and  more 
interesting  details,  while  the  utmost  refinements 
are  only  to  be  appreciated  by  those  who  can  com- 
mand a  good  microscope  and  some  delicacy  of 
manipulation. 

Notwithstanding  the  utmost  diversity  in  detail, 
all  feathers  are  constructed  upon  a  common  plan. 
We  have  feathers  with  two  shafts,  feathers  with  one 
shaft  and  feathers  with  no  shaft  at  all  ;  feathers 
which  bear  a  stiff  and  broad  vane,  feathers  which  form 
branching  plumes,  waving  in  the  gentlest  current 
of  air,  and  feathers  which  at  an  early  stage  of  develop- 
ment crumble  to  powder.  Feathers  may  be  used  for 
warmth,  for  defence,  for  decoration,  for  flight.  They 
are  of  all  colours,  sizes  and  shapes.  But  there  is  hardly 
any  organ  of  the  Bird's  frame  more  uniform  in  its 
early  stages  of  growrth. 

In  the  present  period  of  the  earth's  history,  feathers 

S  2 


260  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

are  absolutely  restricted  to  the  class  of  Birds,  and  we 
have  no  information  respecting  any  extinct  feathered 
animal  which  was  not  in  essentials  a  Bird.  All 
known  Birds  are  feathered,  just  as  all  known  Mammals 
are  hairy. 

I  can  remember  something  of  the  excitement  which 
was  roused  among  naturalists  by  the  discovery  in  1 860 
of  a.  fossil  feather  in  the  lithographic  limestone  of 
Solenhofen  in  Bavaria.  That  Birds  had  existed  in  the 
remote  Jurassic  period  was  a  startling  announcement, 
but  how  tantalising  to  have  no  record  of  the  fact 
beyond  a  single  feather  !  The  suspense  was  not  long 
protracted.  The  very  next  year  the  same  quarries 
revealed  that  fine  skeleton  of  Archaeopteryx  which  is 
now  in  the  British  Museum,  and  no  doubt  was  enter- 
tained that  it  was  this  primitive  Bird  which  had  yielded 
the  solitary  feather  found  a  year  earlier. 

Take  a  Bird  (a  Sparrow  is  suitable,  but  any  common 
Bird  will  do)  with  all  its  feathers  on,  and  notice  how 
they  are  set  upon  the  body.  By  plucking  half  the 
Bird,  you  can  see  that  the  feathers  are  not  placed 
at  equal  distances.  They  are  inserted  into  definite 
tracts,  with  bare  spaces  between.  There  is  a  feather- 
tract  along  the  spine,  and  a  double  feather-tract  along 
the  front  of  the  body.  The  sides  are  to  a  great  extent 
bare,  more  in  some  Birds  than  in  others.  If  the  whole 
body  were  closely  feathered,  the  action  of  the  wings 
would  be  impeded.  But  the  flightless  Ostriches  and 
Penguins  are  uniformly  feathered. 

Observe  the  principal  quills  used  for  flight  (prima- 
ries), and  notice  that  they  are  inserted  into  the 
hand.  A  Bird's  hand  is  so  reduced  and  mutilated  that 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER      261 

you  will  hardly  be  able  to  recognise  it  except  by 
counting  the  joints  of  the  fore-limb.  Nearer  to 
the  body  comes  the  long  row  of  secondaries,  inserted 
into  the  ulna  (one  of  the  two  bones  of  the  fore-arm). 
The  bases  of  the  quills  are  bare  and  separated,  to 
allow  freedom  of  movement  during  the  expansion  and 
folding  of  the  wing,  but  air  is  not  allowed  to  rush 
through  the  intervening  spaces,  and  so  diminish  the 
force  of  the  wing-stroke.  The  spaces  are  concealed 
by  the  overlapping  wing-coverts  (upper  and  under). 
The  tail  usually  bears  twelve  quills,  and  has  upper 
and  under  tail-coverts.  Notice  the  little  "bastard- 
wing  "  on  the  thumb,  which  perhaps  you  may  not  see 
quite  at  the  first  glance.  The  feet  are,  in  most  Birds, 
bare  of  feathers  and  scaly.  It  is  easy  to  see  that 
feathered  shanks  and  toes  would  be  inconvenient  to 
Birds  that  run  about  on  wet  or  muddy  ground. 

Besides  the  quills  a  Bird  carries  body-feathers  of 
two  or  three  sorts.  The  larger  ones  come  to  the 
surface,  and  are  hence  termed,  together  with  the 
quills,  contour  feathers.  They  are  compact  and  glossy, 
at  least  in  that  part  which  is  exposed,  and  overlap  so 
as  to  turn  the  rain.  Hidden  beneath  them  are  fluffy 
down  feathers,  which  entangle  much  air.  Air  is  more 
important  than  the  solid  substance  of  the  feathers 
in  preventing  the  escape  of  heat.  There  are  also 
filoplumes,  feathers  reduced  to  slender,  wiry  shafts  with 
perhaps  a  few  plumes  on  one  side,  or  a  little  tuft  on 
the  summit.  I  suspect  that  the  filoplumes  help 
to  prevent  the  feathers,  and  especially  the  down 
feathers,  from  becoming  entangled  one  with  another. 
The  stiff  bristles  often  scattered  through  the  fur 


262  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

of  Quadrupeds  are  possibly  examples  of  the  same 
expedient.  In  certain  Birds,  Herons  for  example,  there 
are  patches  of  feathers  which  crumble  to  powder  (powder- 
down  feathers).  I  cannot  venture  upon  any  explanation 
of  this  curious  structure  ;  the  powder  is  often  greasy. 

Now  let  us  take  a  single  quill,  and  examine  its  parts. 
There  is  the  barrel,  a  hollow  cylinder,  often  trans- 
parent, the  shaft,  filled  with  a  white  pith,  and  grooved 
along  its  inner  side,  and  the  vane.  The  barrel  has 
usually  a  small  hole  at  its  attached  end,  and  a  scar 
upon  its  inner  side,  where  it  joins  the  shaft.  Between 
these  points  there  can  often  be  seen  a  chain  of  dried  up 
husks,  often  of  oval  or  conical  shape.  They  are  easily 
seen  in  a  goose-quill,  especially  if  one  side  of  the 
barrel  is  cut  away  to  expose  them.  Notice  the 
curvature  of  the  whole  quill  along  its  length,  and  also 
its  more  marked  curvature  from  side  to  side.  The 
concave  side  is  turned  towards  the  inner  side  of  the 
wing  or  the  under  side  of  the  tail ;  it  is  usually  paler 
in  colour  than  the  other,  and  marked  by  the  groove 
along  the  shaft. 

The  barrel  of  a  feather  is  very  light,  being  filled 
only  with  air,  but  it  is  very  strong.  I  lately  took  the 
barrel  of  a  goose-quill,  laid  it  horizontally  on  supports 
2 \  inches  apart,  hung  a  scale-pan  by  means  of  a  hook 
to  its  middle  point  and  gradually  added  weights. 
When  the  load  amounted  to  /Ibs.  the  quill  began 
visibly  to  yield,  and  at  7|lbs.  it  collapsed. 

I  have  already  attempted  to  explain  the  mechanical 
principle  which  renders  the  hollow  cylinder  so  -strong 
in  proportion  to  its  weight.1 

1  See  page  1 54. 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER      263 

In  many  feathers,  especially  body  feathers,  there  is 
a  second  shaft,  the  aftershaft,  which  springs  close  to 
the  scar  from  the  top  of  the  barrel.  The  aftershaft  is 
usually  smaller,  often  much  smaller  than  the  main 
shaft,  but  in  the  Emu  and  Cassowary  it  is  of  nearly  the 
same  length.  In  these  large,  flightless  Birds  the 
feathers  serve  only  for  defence  and  warmth,  and  here 
the  double  shaft  is  of  distinct  advantage,  allowing 
twice  as  many  shafts  to  be  crowded  into  the  same 
surface  of  skin.  I  cannot  explain  why  the  Ostriches 
and  the  little  Kiwi  of  New  Zealand  have  no  aftershaft, 
or  none  that  signifies,  but  I  have  long  been  familiar 
with  negative  exceptions  to  every  kind  of  natural  con- 
trivance. At  first  the  enquirer  is  much  shaken  in  his 
interpretation  of  a  natural  structure  when  he  finds  that 
it  is  wanting  altogether  in  a  species  which  seems  to 
need  it  as  much  as  any  other.  But  the  constant 
occurrence  of  such  cases  where  there  can  be  no  doubt 
of  the  use  of  the  structure  leads  at  length  to  a  settled 
conviction  that  Nature  has  many  ways  of  accomplish- 
ing her  ends,  and  can  dispense  with  any  organ  or  any 
adaptation,  often  for  reasons  which  are  altogether 
inscrutable  to  us. 

The  next  thing  is  to  examine  the  minute  structure 
of  the  vane.  It  resembles  at  first  sight  a  woven  fabric. 
Cut  out  a  square  piece,  hold  it  up  against  the  light, 
and  gently  pull  it  across  the  grain.  We  see  that  it  is 
made  up  of  fibres  (barbs).  The  barbs  are  held 
together  by  a  multitude  of  finer  fibres  (barbules). 
The  barbules  will  resist  a  direct  pull  pretty  well,  but  if 
the  barbs  are  slid  along  sideways,  they  can  be 
detached  without  violence.  They  are  not  truly 


264 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 
but     only     hooked     together     by    the 


interwoven, 
barbules. 

It  now  becomes  necessary  to  employ  the  microscope. 
Cut  out  a  small  piece  of  the  vane,  soak  it  in  alcohol  to 
expel  the  air,  then  transfer  it  to  glycerine,  and  tease  it 
out  with  needles. 

We   shall   then    find    that    the    barbs    are    shaped 


FIG.  63.— Part  of  a  feather,  showing  two  barbs  and  a  number  of  barbules,  slightly 
separated.  The  hooks  of  the  distal  barbules  grasp  the  proximal  barbules  of  the 
next  barb. 


like  knife-blades,  the  back  of  the  blade  being  turned 
outwards,  away  from  the  body  of  the  bird,  and 
towards  the  convex  side  of  the  quill.  Each  barb 
bears  a  double  row  of  barbules,  some  hundreds  in 
number.  Since  the  barbs  run  outwards  from  the 
shaft,  and  the  barbules  outwards  from  the  barbs,  the 
barbules  will  be  approximately  parallel  to  the  shaft. 
They  are  only  approximately  parallel,  for  they  cross 
one  another  at  a  quite  appreciable  angle.  We  must* 
now  distinguish  the  two  sets  of  barbules  borne  upon 
every  barb.  There  is  one  set  which  points  towards 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER 


265 


the  base  of  the  quill  ;  these,  in  accordance  with 
ordinary  anatomical  nomenclature,  may  be  called 
\heproximal  barbules.  The  other  set  points  towards 
the  tip  of  the  quill  and  will  be  the  distal  barbules. 


FIG.  64.— Two  barbules  of  a  feather.     The  left-hand  one  points    owards  the  base  of 
the   feather  (proximal  barbule),  while  the  right-hand  one   points  towards  the 
-  tip  (distal  barbule).     The  distal  barbule  bears  the  hooks.        • 

The  distal  barbules  of  every  barb  overlie  the  proxi- 
mal ones  of  the  next  barb,  crossing  several  of  them 
obliquely.  The  proximal  barbules  have  the  outer 
edge  turned  over  at  a  right  angle  towards  the  barb 


266  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

from  which  they  spring,  and  this  projecting  edge  is,  in 
some  feathers  at  least,  scolloped.  The  distal  barbules 
bear  a  number  of  hooks  on  their  inner  edge  (inner 
here  means  the  side  next  the  body  of  the  bird),  and 
these  hooks  catch  the  scolloped  edges  of  several 
barbules,  and  hold  them  strongly,  but  not  rigidly. 
They  can  stretch  a  little  and  can  also  slide  a  little, 
though  the  scollops  prevent  them  from  sliding  too 


FIG.  65. — Parts  of  three  barbs  in  section  showing  their  proximal  (upper)  and  distal 
(lower)  barbules.  The  small  diagram  illustrates  the  action  of  the  hooks  upon 
the  edges  of  the  proximal  barbules. 

easily.  If  they  have  been  gently  detached  from  the 
proximal  barbules,  they  can  be  replaced  by  stroking, 
and  this  is  no  doubt  often  done  when  a  bird  smooths 
its  ruffled  feathers  with  its  bill,  but  rough  handling 
breaks  or  distorts  the  hooks,  and  they  never  adhere 
properly  again.  When  the  barbules  have  beea 
studied  and  drawn,  they  may  be  modelled  with  great 
advantage.  The  barbs  may  be  represented  by  bars  of 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER      267 

wood,  and  strips  of  card  cut  out  to  the  shape  of  the 
barbules  may  be  fixed  to  saw-cuts  made  in  the  sides  of 
the  bars.  A  little  trouble  bestowed  upon  the  details  of 
the  model  will  not  be  thrown  away  ;  it  all  helps 
the  perfect  understanding  of  a  beautiful  and  intricate 
mechanism.  In  the  decorative  plumes  of  many  birds 
the  barbules  are  undeveloped  or  lose  their  hooks,  and 
the  barbs  then  become  free.  A  piece  of  a  peacock's 
feather  mounted  as  a  lantern-slide,  makes  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  barbs  and  barbules  quite  plain.  Double- 
shafted  feathers  are  easily  shown  to  a  number  of 
persons,  if  mounted  in  the  same  way. 

A  feather  cannot  be  mastered  until  its  development 
has  been  studied.  Something  may  be  seen  of  the 
development  of  a  feather  by  examination  of  a  moult- 
ing Bird,  and  it  is  seldom  that  a  bird  is  not  moulting 
some  of  its  feathers.  The  new  feathers  may  be  seen 
pushing  up  through  the  skin,  each  enclosed  in  a  thin 
outer  quill,  which  crumbles  gradually  away  from  the 
tip  downwards,  and  allows  the  barbs  to  expand.  But 
the  easiest  way  to  get  developing  feathers  is  to  ex- 
amine unhatched  chicks.  Chicks  removed  from  the 
egg  after  incubation  for  nine  days  and  upwards, 
provide  excellent  material.  But  few  of  my  readers,  I 
fear,  can  command  a  supply  of  developing  chicks,  or 
know  how  to  investigate  them.  The  work  is  mainly 
done  by  thin  sections  through  the  artificially  hardened 
tissues. 

There  are  two  layers  in  the  skin  of  Vertebrate 
animals,  an  outer  layer  (epidermis),  which  is  cellular 
and  neither  vascular  nor  sensitive  ;  and  an  inner  layer 
(dermis),  which  is  abundantly  supplied  with  vessels 


268  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

and  nerves.  Both  layers  contribute  to  the  formation 
of  the  feathers,  but  the  epidermis  alone  furnishes  the 
formative  cells,  while  the  vessels  of  the  dermis  bring 
nutritive  substance  for  the  supply  of  the  rapidly 
multiplying  epidermis  cells.  The  first  stage  in  the 
development  of  a  feather  shows  a  conical  elevation  of 
the  epidermis,  within  which  the  dermis  forms  a  papilla 
of  similar  form.  As  the  papilla  increases  in  height,  its 
base  becomes  sunk  to  a  corresponding  extent  beneath 
the  general  surface  of  the  skin,  thus  obtaining  pro- 
tection against  friction,  which  would  be  injurious  to  a 
slender  column  of  rapidly  growing  cells.  The 
epidermic  sheath  which  encloses  the  dermal  papilla 
increases  rapidly  in  thickness,  and  the  cells  arrange 
themselves  in  three  layers,  of  which  the  middle  one  is 
much  the  thickest.  After  a  time  the  middle  layer 
thins  out  along  one  side  of  the  papilla,  corresponding 
to  the  future  inner  side  of  the  feather,  while  it  grows 
in  thickness  on  the  opposite  side,  where  the  shaft  will 
ultimately  appear.1  At  length  the  line  of  weakness  is 
broken  through,  and  the  upper  part  of  the  tube  is  laid 
open,  forming  henceforth  a  flattish  sheet,  which  is  the 
vane  of  the  feather.  Meanwhile  unequal  deposition 
of  material  has  given  rise  to  the  barbs  and  barbules, 
which  are  due  to  splitting  of  what  was  in  a  very  early 
stage  a  continuous  conical  sheath.  The  tubular 
arrangement  is  retained  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
feather,  which  forms  the  barrel.  It  is  obvious  that  if  a 
tube  is  split  open  along  part  of  its  length  and  laid  out  as 
a  more  or  less  flattened  sheet,  while  the  lower  .part  re- 

1  Where  an  after-shaft  is  to  be  formed  two  lines  of  weakness 
and  two  thick  ridges  form. 


THE  STRUCTURE  OF  A  FEATHER      269 

mains  tubular,  there  must  be  an  orifice  where  the  tube 
and  the  sheet  join.  This  orifice  exists  in  every  feather, 
and  is  called  the  umbilicus ;  it  is  usually  choked  up 
by  a  tissue  which  will  be  noticed  a  little  later.  The 
apex  of  the  feather  is  formed  first,  and  may  be  quite 
complete  while  the  base  is  still  pulpy ;  it  becomes 
gradually  pushed  upwards  by  the  new  growth  at  its 
base.  The  outermost  epidermic  layer  forms  a  cylin- 
drical sheet  enclosing  the  future  feather ;  it  adheres 
strongly  to  the  barrel,  but  is  free  from  the  vane.  When 
the  feather  first  appears  above  the  surface  it  is 
enclosed  within  this  outer  sheath,  from  the  summit  of 
which  a  pencil-like  bunch  of  barbs  projects.  The 
sheath  afterwards  dries,  and  gradually  crumbles  away 
from  the  top  downwards,  exposing  the  feathers. 

While  the  growth  of  the  feather  is  in  progress  the 
papilla  is  relatively  large  and  highly  vascular,  but 
shortly  before  the  completion  of  the  barrel,  which  is 
the  last  part  to  be  formed,  the  papilla  begins  to  shrink. 
During  its  retreat  from  the  barrel  the  papilla  leaves 
behind  it  successive  layers  of  dry  and  horny  substance, 
once  charged  with  living  protoplasm,  and  abounding 
in  vessels,  but  now  shrunk  to  hollow  capsules,  super- 
posed upon  one  another.  These  capsules  form  a  chain, 
which  extends  from  the  base  of  the  barrel  to  the 
umbilicus,  and  in  young,  unworn  feathers  may  often 
be  seen  to  project  through  the  umbilical  orifice  at  the 
base  of  the  vane.  At  length  the  feather  is  completed, 
and  the  formative  papilla  comes  to  rest.  It  will 
however  renew  its  activity  periodically  during  the 
whole  life  of  the  Bird,  forming  fresh  feathers  which 
push  out  the  old  ones  at  the  seasons  of  moult.  The 


270  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

papilla  also  revives  whenever  a  feather  is  accidentally 
lost. 

Feathers  formed  in  the  egg  are  usually  much 
smaller  and  simpler  in  structure  than  those  which  are 
afterwards  developed  ;  they  form  a  soft,  downy 
covering  in  many  fledglings. 

The  colours  of  feathers  are  due  in  part  to  pigment, 
but  very  largely  to  minute  structural  peculiarities, 
such  as  close-ruled  grooves  or  ridges,  which  give  rise 
to  interference  colours,  like  those  of  mother-of-pearl 
or  Barton's  buttons.  That  the  colours  of  such 
iridescent  bodies  are  due  to  the  form  of  the  surface 
was  proved  by  Brewster,  who  took  casts  in  black  wax, 
and  found  that  they  exhibited  the  same  play  of 
colour.  The  pigments  of  feathers  are  mostly  black, 
brown,  red  or  yellow.  Green  pigment  is  extremely 
uncommon  in  feathers.  The  green  plumage  of  a 
Parrot,  if  held  against  the  light,  or  crushed,  in  some 
cases  if  thoroughly  wetted  with  water,  turns  brown, 
grey  or  yellow  (Gadow).  No  blue  pigment  is  known 
to  occur  in  feathers.  White  feathers  are  white  because 
of  a  multitude  of  reflecting  surfaces,  never  because  of 
the  presence  of  a  white  pigment.1 

THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF. 

Chill  October  puts  an  end  to  the  activity  of  the 
leaves  of  our  deciduous  trees.  They  cease  to  be  useful 

1  The  article  on  "  Feathers "  by  Dr.  Gadow,  in  Newton's 
Dictionary  of  Birds,  and  "  The  Interlocking  of  the  Barbs  of 
Feathers,"  by  W.  P.  Pycraft  (Natural  Science,  Sept.  1893),  may 
be  recommended  to  those  who  are  able  to  pursue  the  subject 
further. 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF  271 

as  food-formers,  and  it  becomes  important  for  the  tree 
to  get  tid  of  them  quickly  and  without  violence.  If 
the  leaves  were  merely  to  die  in  their  place,  nothing 
short  of  a  gale  of  wind  would  strip  the  tree,  and 
probably  no  ordinary  gale  would  suffice,  as  a  fact 
shortly  to  be  mentioned  concerning  the  Oak  and 
Beech  seems  to  prove.  A  whole  gale,  sweeping  over 
a  leafy  tree,  would  be  attended  with  loss  of  twigs  as 
well  as  of  leaves.  We  see  what  damage  is  done  by  a 
high  wind  in  summer,  when  the  tree  is  clothed  with 
firmly  adhering  leaves.  It  is  much  better  that  the 
leaf  should  fall  of  its  own  accord  in  still  weather, 
and  return  its  substance  to  the  soil  about  the 
roots,  instead  of  being  whirled  to  a  distance.  Most 
of  our  trees  are  able  to  shed  their  leaves  without 
waiting  for  them  to  be  torn  off,  but  there  are  a  few 
unexplained  exceptions.  The  Oak  and  the  Beech 
keep  their  leaves  long,  especially  when  young.  The 
Turkey  Oak  keeps  its  leaves  even  when  it  has  grown 
into  a  large  tree.  Are  these  trees  adapted  to  more 
sheltered  situations  than  others,  or  are  their  branches 
better  able  to  withstand  a  strain  ?  It  is  well  to  put 
these  questions,  but  I  must  confess  that  I  cannot 
answer  them. 

Leaves  about  to  fall  commonly  change  colour.  The 
chlorophyll  either  disappears,  or  is  converted  into  new 
colouring-matters.  The  supply  of  water  and  sap  is 
arrested,  and  both  leaf  and  leaf-stalk  shrivel.  At  the 
base  of  the  leaf-stalk  is  an  enlargement  or  cushion, 
and  in  compound  leaves  there  is  often  such  a  cushion 
to  every  leaflet.  Though  the  rest  of  the  leaf  and  leaf- 
stalk shrink,  the  cushion  remains  plump.  Let  us  stop 


272  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

for  a  moment  to  consider  what  is  the  special  use  of  the 
cushion  to  the  active  leaf. 

It  is  an  organ  of  movement.  By  means  of  the 
cushion  the  leaf  changes  its  attitude,  inclines  its 
surface  to  catch  the  light,  droops  at  night,  and  in  some 
cases  droops  when  touched.  The  delicate  adjustments 
by  which  the  leaf  sets  itself  in  the  best  position  both 
with  respect  to  light  or  neighbouring  leaves  are 
effected  by  the  cushion.  The  mechanism  of  adjust- 
ment depends  upon  the  turgidity  (distention  by  water) 
of  the  cellular  cushion.  The  cells  can  either  absorb 
water  from  neighbouring  tissues,  or  give  it  out,  and 
swelling  or  contraction  follows.  There  may  be 
swelling  on  one  side  and  contraction  on  the  other ; 
the  swelling  may  be  either  temporary  or  permanent. 
Swelling  on  one  side  causes  a  leaf-stalk  or  young  stem 
to  incline  to  the  opposite  side.  Sometimes  the  cellular 
tissues  of  a  shoot  swell  on  every  side  in  succession. 
Then  the  shoot  sweeps  round  and  round  in  a  regular 
nutation,  bowing  to  every  point  of  the  compass  in  the 
course  of  its  revolution. 

The  cushion  plays  an  important  part  in  the  fall  of 
the  leaf.  Here  the  block  takes  place,  which  cuts  off 
the  supply  of  water  passing  upwards  from  the  stem 
and  roots  to  the  leaf.  Here  too  the  separating 
layer  forms,  which  at  length  severs  the  leaf  from  the 
branch. 

The  separating  layer  ends  by  producing  a  transverse 
cut  through  all  the  cellular  tissues  of  the  leaf-stalk, 
sparing  only  the  vessels  and  fibres,  though  these  too 
it  will  ultimately  break  through.  The  parting  of  the 
cellular  tissues  greatly  increases  the  ease  with  which 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF 


273 


the  vessels '  and  fibres  snap  across.  Let  us  suppose 
that  we  hold  in  our  hand  a  slender  fishing-rod,  and 
switch  it  to  and  fro.  It  sways  in  gentle  and  continuous 
curves,  and  unless  it  is  loaded,  it  will  not  easily  break. 
Now  suppose  that  we  case  the  rod  in  a  layer  of  plaster 


vb 


FIG.  66. — Section   through  leaf-base  of   Horse   Chestnut,   before  fall  of  the    leaf. 
X  25.     «/,  wood  ;  Is  to  Is,  leaf-stalk  ;  vb,  vascular  bundles  ;  s,  corky  layer. 

of  Paris  an  inch  thick,  which  is  ringed,  or  cut  com- 
pletely through,  in  one  place.  What  effect  will  the 
plaster  casing  have  upon  the  strength  of  the  rod,  and 
upon  its  power  to  resist  fracture  by  bending?  Our 
first  thought  will  probably  be  that  the  plaster  may 

T 


274  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

increase,  but  cannot  possibly  diminish,  the  strength  of 
the  rod.  Actual  trial,  however,  proves  that  this  very 
natural  supposition  is  wrong.  The  cased  rod,  ringed 
in  one  place,  will  not  stand  vigorous  and  sudden 
bending,  but  will  snap  across  at  the  ring.  Rigidity 
everywhere  but  in  one  place  is  highly  unfavourable 
to  that  nearly  uniform  curvature  which  enables  the 
rod  to  endure  a  bending  strain  without  fracture.  All 
the  bending  is  now  concentrated  upon  one  place 
instead  of  being  distributed  throughout  the  whole 
length  of  the  rod.  Mechanical  engineers  have  long 
recognised  that  abrupt  changes  of  section  greatly 
increase  the  tendency  of  axles  and  shafts  to  break 
across. 

The  separating  layer  will  therefore  weaken  the  leaf- 
stalk, and  predispose  it  to  part  at  one  particular  place, 
although  it  does  not  pass  through  the  vessels  and 
fibres,  which  are  the  principal  means  of  attachment  of 
the  leaf.  But  this  is  not  all.  The  separating  layer 
contains  a  mechanism  for  producing  a  positive  thrust, 
which  comes  in  aid  of  the  pull  of  gravity  and  wind- 
pressure,  and  suffices  to  part  the  leaf  from  the  branch, 
even  when  it  is  supported  and  kept  in  a  perfectly  still 
atmosphere.  How  this  i-s  accomplished  I  shall  try  to 
explain  a  little  later  on. 

The  fall  of  the  leaf  is  an  old  subject  of  enquiry,  but 
the  material  facts  necessary  to  a  satisfactory  ex- 
planation were  not  discovered  till  the  year  1859.  It 
happened  in  that  year  that  the  eminent  botanist,  Hugo 
von  Mohl,  spent  his  long  vacation  at  home  instead  of 
at  the  seaside  or  in  the  mountains,  and  was  thus  led 
to  observe  the  fall  of  the  leaf  with  all  the  advantages 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF 


275 


of  a  botanical  garden  and  laboratory  appliances.  The 
results  of  his  vacation  studies  are  given  in  the 
Botanische  Zeitung  for  1860.  Mohl  discovered  the 
separating  layer  by  cutting  sections  through  the  leaf- 
stalk when  the  fall  of  the  leaf  was  imminent.  He  found 


FIG.  67.— Section  through   leaf-base  of  Horse   Chestnut.     X  150  (part  of  Fig.  66, 
more  highly  magnified),     -vb,  vascular  bundle  ;  s,  corky  layer. 

it  to  be  a  thin  layer  of  living  and  active  cells,  travers- 
ing the  cushion.  It  is  charged  with  abundant  living 
protoplasm,  contains  many  starch  grains,  and  appears 
in  the  midst  of  cells  which  are  almost  empty  and  well- 
nigh  dead.  The  separating  layer  can  often  be  picked 

T    2 


2;6  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

out  in  sections  by  the  naked  eye,  especially  if  iodine 
solution,  which  gives  a  characteristic  blue  colour  to 
starch,  is  applied.  It  forms  gradually,  extending  across 
the  leaf-stalk  from  without  inwards. 

The  separating  layer  consists  of  growing  tissue, 
which  absorbs  whatever  nourishment  it  can  draw  from 
the  neighbouring  cells,  and  displays  a  short-lived 
activity.  New  cell-walls,  parallel  to  the  direction  of 
the  layer,  soon  appear,  and  in  a  few  days  or  even  in  a 
few  hours  after  its  first  appearance  in  a  recognisable 
form  it  becomes  divided  into  three  tiers  of  cells.  Each 
cell  is  very  thin  or  low,  in  proportion  to  its  length 
and  breadth.  When  the  right  moment  comes,  the 
middle  tier  of  cells  breaks  down,  the  cell-walls  being 
most  likely  converted  into  a  kind  of  thin  mucilage  by 
a  change  of  which  many  other  examples  could  be 
furnished,  and  thus  the  cellular  tissues  of  the  leaf- 
stalk are  severed. 

Since  Mohl's  discovery  further  investigation  has 
brought  to  light  not  a  few  interesting  details.  Van 
Tieghem  and  Guignard l  have  pointed  out  the  signifi- 
cance of  certain  peculiar  brown  cells,  previously  seen 
by  Mohl,  which  stretch  across  the  leaf-stalk  near  the 
separating  layer.  They  are  cells  which  have  become 
lined  with  cork,  and  thus  rendered  impervious  to 
water  and  watery  fluids.  Before  the  leaf  is  shed  the 
cellular  tissues  have  their  supply  of  water  and  sap  cut 
off.  The  vessels,  however,  still  remain  open,  for  they 
are  wanted  to  discharge  whatever  useful  fluids  the 
worn-out  leaf  may  still  contain.  After  the  leaf  has 
fallen,  the  vessels  too  may  be  sealed  by  corky  sub- 
1  Soc.  Bot.  de  France^  torn.  39  (1882). 


THE  FALL  OF  THE  LEAF         277 

stance.  The  corky  layer  is  often  formed  months 
before  the  fall  of  the  leaf.  It  is  usually  a  little  lower 
down  than  the  separating  layer. 

Van  Tieghem  arid  Guignard  also  tell  us,  though  I 
think  that  they  did  not  first  discover  the  fact,  that  the 
changes  in  the  leaf  which  precede  its  fall  may  be 
artificially  induced  any  time  after  Midsummer.  It  is 
only  necessary  to  cut  a  branch,  and  keep  it  in  a  still, 
moist  atmosphere.  Shutting  it  up  in  a  botanical 
collecting-box  is  a  very  convenient  method,  which  will 
cause  the  complete  formation  of  a  separating  layer  in 
a  week  or  less.  It  is  not,  therefore,  necessary  to  stay 
at  home  during  the  long  vacation  in  order  to  study  the 
phenomena  of  defoliation  with  all  the  conveniences  of 
our  own  laboratory  or  study. 

Van  Tieghem  and  Guignard  observe  that  when  the 
middle  tier  of  cells  in  the  separating  layer  deliquesces, 
the  exposed  cells  of  the  neighbouring  tiers  begin  to 
bulge.  This  points  to  their  turgid  condition.  Our 
authors  believe  that  increasing  turgidity  at  length 
causes  the  two  tiers  to  press  against  each  other  with 
sufficient  force  to  rupture  the  vessels  and  fibres.  Thus 
the  last  attachment  of  the  leaf  is  severed,  without 
shock  arid  it  may  be  in  perfectly  still  air,  and  the  leaf 
falls  gently  to  the  ground. 

Mohl  observed  that  during  a  frost  in  early  winter 
many  leaves  fell  though  the  air  was  perfectly  still. 
On  close  examination  he  found  that  the  sap  in  the 
separating  layer  had  frozen  to  a  thin  plate  of  ice, 
which  forced  the  tissues  apart,  just  as  ice  in  the 
crevices  breaks  up  the  clods.  When  the  ice  melted 
after  sun-rise  the  leaves  fell  at  once. 


278  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

AUTUMN   WINDS  AND  WINTER  FLOODS. 

Nov.  23. — For  weeks  past  there  has  been  a  succes- 
sion of  south-westerly  gales  with  torrents  of  rain.  The 
withered  leaves  have  been  whirled  away,  the  roads  are 
deep  in  mire,  the  river  is  in  flood.  All  through  the 
autumn  the  grass  has  been  growing,  and  flower  buds 
have  been  opening  months  before  or  after  their  usual 
time. 

The  ocean  of  air  which  rests  upon  the  earth  is  a 
most  unstable  thing,  sensitive  to  the  slightest  change 
of  temperature.  Inequalities  of  temperature  create 
movement,  and  the  movement  once  set  up  does  not 
easily  subside.  The  currents  of  the  air,  like  currents 
of  water  in  a  deep  pool,  seldom  take  a  straight  course, 
but  circle,  or  boil  up  from  the  depths  and  then  plunge 
down  again.  The  eddies  of  the  air,  like  those  of  the 
river,  have  a  tendency  to  keep  to  certain  tracks.  Land 
and  sea  are  fixed  things,  and  these  determine  to  some 
extent  the  distribution  of  the  temperature  and  the  set 
of  the  winds.  For  weeks  together  cyclones  go  whirling 
along  from  S.W.  to  N.E.  between  Spain  and  Iceland, 
nearly  always  passing  to  the  north  of  our  islands,  but 
swerving  a  little  from  time  to  time.  They  bring  with 
them  the  moisture  of  the  ocean-air,  and  something  of 
the  warmth  of  lower  latitudes. 

A  week  ago  the  rivers  rose  to  an  unusual  height. 
The  banks  were  swept  bare  in  many  places.  Trees 
were  uprooted,  and  felled  trees  set  afloat.  Standing 
on  a  bridge  to  watch  the  rushing  torrent  I  could  see 
trunk  after  trunk  shoot  past.  The  stream  has  now 
fallen  again,  and  I  have  been  to  watch  the  effects  of 


AUTUMN  WINDS  AND  WINTER  FLOODS   279 

the  flood.  On  one  low  flat  near  the  river  I  found 
great  patches  of  refuse,  broken  twigs,  cases  of  caddis 
worms,  here  and  there  a  chrysalis  or  a  cocoon,  and 
abundance  of  seeds.  Among  many  unknown  fruits 
and  seeds  I  could  see  a  great  many  Alder-nuts,  which 
happen  to  be  familiar  to  me. 

Alder  grows  by  preference  on  the  banks  of  streams, 
and  during  the  gales  of  autumn  and  winter  the  ripe 
nuts  are  shaken  out  of  the  cones.  Many  of  them 
must  fall  from  the  overhanging  boughs  into  the  water, 
and  be  swept  down  the  stream.  Do  they  sink  or 
swim  in  water?  It  was  a  simple  thing  to  try.  I 
threw  a  number  of  the  nuts  into  a  beaker  of  water, 
and  found  that  they  all  floated.  They  went  on  floating 
all  through  the  winter,  and  many  of  them  germinated 
on  the  surface  in  spring  or  earlier.  Do  all  seeds  swim 
in  water  ?  I  went  to  a  seedsman  and  bought  a  dozen 
packets  of  flower-seeds,  taking  the  first  which  came  to 
hand  without  selection.  All  sank  in  water  except  a  small 
proportion  of  each  sort  (probably  dead  seeds)  which 
contained  air  and  floated.  Among  the  rest  were  the 
so-called  seeds  of  two  Composites,  which  floated. 
But  these  were  not  mere  seeds.  They  were  fruits 
invested  by  the  withered  husks,  which  enclosed  plenty 
of  air. 

On  cutting  open  an  Alder-nut  the  wall  was  found 
to  be  excavated  by  numerous  small  cavities.  I  wished 
to  ascertain  whether  these  were  air-tight  compartments 
or  not.  I  therefore  exhausted  the  air  from  a  receiver 
which  contained  some  entire  and  some  broken  Alder- 
nuts  floating  on  water.  None  of  them  sank,  though 
the  air  was  kept  exhausted  for  a  long  time.  I 


280 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


concluded  that  the  cavities  were  separate  and  air- 
tight. 

The  long  flotation  of  Alder-nuts  on  water  suggested 

that  they  contained  some 
resinous  or  other  water- 
repelling  substance.  Dr.  J. 
B.  Cohen,  of  the  Yorkshire 
College,  was  good  enough 
to  examine  them  for  me. 
He  says  :  —  "  About  4^- 
grams  of  Alder  seeds  were 
dried  in  a  steam-oven  and 
extracted  with  ether.  They 
lost  in  the  first  process  17-1 
per  cent,  of  water,  and  in 
the  second  2-4  per  cent,  of 
extractive  matter.  The  sub- 
stance .  extracted  formed  a 
perfectly  solid  and  brittle, 
light-yellow  mass.  It  gave 
none  of  the  reactions  for 
resin,  but  on  heating  melted 
and  evolved  a  smell  closely 
resembling  that  of  hot  lin- 
seed soil.  The  seeds  freed 
from  oil  floated  on  water, 
but  some  of  them  sank 
after  a  time.  The  majority, 
however,  floated  after  four 

days'  soaking.  On  the  other  hand,  when  the.,  seeds 
freed  from  oil  were  cut  in  halves,  and  soaked 
in  water,  and  the  air  then  extracted  by  exhaust- 


FIG.  68.— Section  through  Alder-nut, 
showing  the  seed  in  the  centre  and 
the  porous  husk  outside. 


AUTUMN  WINDS  AND  WINTER  FLOODS      281 

ing  the  vessel  under  the  air-pump,  all  the  seeds 
without  exception  sank  after  twenty-four  hours."  The 
long-continued  flotation  of  Alder-nuts  is  therefore  to 
be  attributed  to  the  numerous  air-tight  compartments 
of  the  wall  or  shell,  and  to  the  oily  matter  which 
renders  them  incapable  of  wetting.  We  shall  shortly 
see  that  both  precautions  are  employed  in  the  case  of 
another  fruit  which  is  dispersed  by  water. 

I  next  turned  to  Dr.  H.  B.  Guppy's  paper  on  the 


FIG.  69. — Part  of  the  porous  husk  of  an  Alder-nut,  highly  magnified      The  dark 
spaces  are  filled  with  air. 

River  Thames  as  an  agent  in  plant-dispersal,1  which 
contains  many  curious  facts.  He  tells  us,  as  the 
result  of  his  long-continued  and  laborious  enquiries, 
that  not  only  in  autumn  but  in  winter  and  spring  the 
rivers  carry  down  much  vegetable  drift.  It  is  not 
usually  swept  down  at  once  to  the  sea.  Winds 
blowing  across  the  river  set  up  a  surface-flow,  by 
which  the  drift  is  often  lodged  among  the  reeds  or 
embayed  in  sheltered  creeks.  Floods  throw  the  drift 
upon  the  banks,  where  it  may  rest  for  weeks  and 
months  until  another  flood  picks  it  up.  Eddies  detain 
1  Journ.  Linn.  Soc.,  Botany y  Vol.  XXIX.,  p.  333  (1893). 


282  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

it,  perhaps  for  many  days  together,  in  the  same  place. 
In  the  lower  reaches  of  the  river  the  drift  comes  under 
the  influence  of  the  tides,  which  carry  it  to  and  fro 
for  a  long  time.  During  this  protracted  flotation, 
seeds,  seed-vessels,  and  even  broken-off  fragments 
of  living  plants  may  retain  their  power  of  ger- 
mination or  renewed  growth.  Some,  like  the  nuts 
of  the  Alder,  float  a  long  time  and  germinate  in 
spring  at  the  surface  of  the  water.  The  seedlings  of 
such  plants  would  readily  establish  themselves  when- 
ever they  happened  to  be  stranded  in  a  suitable 
place.  The  seeds  and  seed-vessels,  which  float  for 
months  in  the  river-drift,  nearly  always  float  equally 
well  in  sea-water,  and  afterwards  germinate,  as  Dr. 
Guppy  ascertained  by  actual  experiment.  Ice  sends 
great  numbers  to  the  bottom  after  the  thaw,  but  many 
are  not  injured  even  by  repeated  freezing.  Some 
seedlings  even  gain  fresh  vigour  in  the  ice,  and  will 
put  forth  their  leaves  during  the  daily  thaw,  though 
every  night  they  are  frozen  up  again. 

The  floating  drift  by  no  means  includes  the  seeds 
of  all  the  common  water-plants  of  the  river.  It  would 
be  nearer  the  truth  to  say  that  it  includes  none  of 
them.  Water-lilies,  the  Water  Persicaria  (Polygonum 
amphibium))  the  WTater  Ranunculus,  the  Water  forget- 
me-not  and  other  plants  which  live  actually  in  the 
water  are  unrepresented  in  the  drift.  Their  seeds 
have  little  or  no  floating-power.  These  plants  prob- 
ably owe  their  dispersal  to  birds.  Charles  Darwin 
tells  us  that  hard  seeds  pass  uninjured  through  .even 
the  digestive  organs  of  a  Turkey.  He  picked  up  in 
his  garden  twelve  kinds  of  seeds  from  the  droppings 


AUTUMN  WINDS  AND  WINTER  FLOODS      283 

of  small  birds,  and  some  of  these,  which  were  tried, 
germinated.  The  castings  of  Hawks  and  Owls  often 
contain  seeds  capable  of  germination.  Fishes  eat  the 
seeds  of  many  land  and  water  plants,  and  are  them- 
selves often,  eaten  by  birds.  When  seeds  were  stuffed 
into  the  stomachs  of  dead  fishes,  which  were  afterwards 
given  to  Fishing-eagles,  Storks  and  Pelicans,  the  seeds 
were  afterwards  thrown  up  or  passed  out,  and  several 
of  them  were  able  to  germinate.  Even  large  insects, 
such  as  Locusts,  transport  living  seeds  in  their 
intestines.1 

The  winds,  which  bring  the  rain  and  swell  the 
rivers,  are  another  means  of  dispersing  seeds.  The 
plumed  fruits  or  seeds  of  the  Thistle,  Dandelion, 
Willow  and  Bullrush,  the  winged  fruits  of  the  Elm, 
Ash,  Sycamore,  Lime,  Birch  and  many»Umbellifers 
are  carried  over  the  fields  by  high  winds,  and  those 
which  are  small  and  light  may  be  carried  very  far 
indeed.  I  have  seen  plumed  seeds  settle  down  on  the 
waves  at  a  distance  of  more  than  twenty  miles  from 
shore,  and  if  my  opportunities  of  observation  had  been 
better  I  could  no  doubt  give  much  more  striking  cases. 

Less  frequent  modes  of  dispersal  are  entanglement 
in  feathers,  fur  or  wool  (to  facilitate  which  many  low 
plants  have  their  fruits  or  seeds  hooked),  and 
mechanical  ejection,  such  as  is  practised  by  the 
Violets,  Geraniums,  Furze  and  many  others.  Here 
the  distance  to  which  the  seeds  can  be  directly 
conveyed  is  very  limited,  often  only  a  few  feet,  but 
dense  crowding  at  least  is  avoided. 

1  Origin  of  Species,  ch.  xi.  Many  other  facts  of  the  same 
order  are  given  in  the  original. 


284  ROUND  THE  YEAR 

The  winds  which  blow  steadily  over  great  expanses 
of  sea  set  up  currents,  which  often  carry  floating 
objects  to  great  distances.  Among  these  are  many 
well-known  drift-fruits,  such  as  the  Coco-de-mer  (the 
Lodoicea  of  the  Seychelles),  the  Sea-apples  or  Sea- 
cocoa-nuts  of  the  West  Indies  (fruits  of  the  Bussu 
palm  of  Trinidad  and  Brazil),  and  the  Sea-beans 
(Entada  scandens)  which  are  cast  ashore  in  all  parts  of 
the  world.  Linnaeus  long  ago  noted  that  tropical 
fruits  and  seeds,  in  some  cases  capable  of  germination, 
were  frequently  stranded  on  the  coast  of  Norway. 
One  drift-fruit,  often  cast  ashore  in  the  West  Indies 
and  elsewhere,  is  particularly  interesting,  first  because 
it  exhibits  the  same  structural  peculiarities  which  fit 
the  Alder  nuts  for  dispersal  by  water,  and  secondly 
because,  though  it  is  often  cast  up  on  the  sea-shore, 
its  native  country  and  the  tree  which  yielded  it  were 
only  discovered  after  three  centuries  of  inquiry.  In 
Nature  for  Nov.  21,  1895,  I  find  an  article  entitled  "  A 
Jamaica  Drift-fruit,"  in  which  Mr.  D.  Morris,  Assist- 
ant-director of  the  Kew  Gardens,  clears  up  this 
ancient  mystery. 

The  fruit  in  question  was  first  described  and  figured 
by  Clusius  in  1605.  After  that  it  was  repeatedly 
discovered  as  a  waif  upon  tropical  shores,  and  once 
(in  1887)  m  Bigborough  Bay  in  the  south  of  England. 
From  the  large  collections  preserved  at  Kew,  Mr. 
Hillier  was  at  length  enabled  to  infer  that  the  fruit 
was  probably  referable  to  the  small  order  of 
Humiriaceae,  which  contains  trees  or  shrubs  mostly 
with  balsamic  juice,  entirely  confined  to  tropical 
America,  so  far  as  was  then  known.  This  led  to 


AUTUMN  WINDS  AND  WINTER  FLOODS      285 

further  inquiries,  and  at  length  to  the  recognition  of 
the  plant  by  Mr.  Hart,  Superintendent  of  the  Botanic 
Garden  at  Trinidad.  There  the  tree  still  grows.  It 


FIG.  70. — Fruit  of  Saccoglottis  amazonica.  From  paper  on  a  Jamaica  Drift-fruit 
by  D.  Morris  (Nature,  Nov.  21,  1895).  i,  fruit  with  fleshy  expcarp  removed, 
as  in  drift-fruits.  2,  cross-section,  showing  the  numerous  cavities.  3,  longi- 
tudinal section. 


was  botanically  described  by  the  former  Director  of 
the  Trinidad  Botanic  Garden,  Dr.  Criiger,  in  1 86 1. 
The  tree  is  named  Sacoglottis  amazonica  ;  it  is  rare  in 


286 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


Trinidad,  but    more   abundant   in    the   delta   of  the 
Amazon. 

It  is  highly  satisfactory  to  be  able  to  trace  a  long- 
known  drift-fruit  to  its  native  home.  The  interest  is 
increased  by  the  peculiar  structure  of  the  fruit.  It  is 
covered  externally  by  a  thin  fleshy  envelope,  within 
which  is  a  shell,  excavated  by  numerous  large  and 


FIG.  71. — Fruit  of  Saccoglottis  amazonica.     From  Nature,    Nov.   21,  1895,  after 

Criiger. 

irregular  cysts,  which  contain  air  and  some  resin. 
Hence  the  fruit  is  very  buoyant,  easily  impelled  by 
wind,  and  not  easily  water-logged.  The  tree  grows 
near  running  water,  which  can  transport  the  fruits  to 
the  sea,  and  so  to  distant  shores. 

The  Sacoglottis-fruit,  in  spite  of  its  protection  from 
sinking,  decay  or  destruction  by  animals,  is  not  known 
to  have  established  itself  in  a  new  area  within  recent 


AUTUMN  WINDS  AND  WINTER  FLOODS      287 

times.  Its  transport  from  Brazil  to  Trinidad  may 
have  been  effected  by  flotation,  and  very  likely  was, 
but  proof  of  the  fact  is  inaccessible.  This  reminds  us 
that  many  things  are  necessary ,  for  establishment  in  a 
new  area  besides  mere  transport  of  the  living  plant  or 
animal.  Innumerable  plants  and  a  considerable 
number  of  animals  reach  our  shores  every  year  from 
distant  parts  of  the  world,  some  borne  by  currents, 
some  by  the  wind,  many  more  by  man  himself.  Of 
these  we  may  shortly  say  that  none  survive  when 
fresh  supplies  are  cut  off.  It  is  just  possible  indeed 
to  point  to  the  Anacharis  of  our  ponds  and  streams  as 
a  casual  invader  which  holds  its  ground  here,  but  I 
know  of  no  second  instance.  Our  experience  is  how- 
ever exceptional.  The  British  Islands  are  crowded 
with  dominant  species,  and  there  is  no  room  here  for 
chance  immigrants.  It  would  be  very  different  with 
the  weeds  or  common  animals  of  a  wide  continent 
which  chanced  to  be  cast  ashore  upon  a  long-isolated 
island.  There,  the  material  difficulty  of  transport 
once  overcome,  the  invaders  would  have  a  fair  chance 
of  survival.  Keeling  Island  and  many  other  examples 
show  that  wide  stretches  of  sea  may  be  crossed,  and 
that  numerous  migrants  may  at  length  establish  them- 
selves permanently  in  a  new  soil.  The  population  of 
«the  earth,  both  animal  and  vegetable,  would  be  very 
different  from  what  we  now  see,  if  it  were  not  for  the 
means  of  dispersal  provided  by  the  winds  and  waves, 
and  for  that  adaptability  to  external  conditions  which 
enables  plants  and  animals  to  employ  those  means  for 
their  own  purposes. 


288  ROUND  THE  YEAR 


THE  SHORTEST  DAY  OF  THE  YEAR. 

Dec.  21. — The  sun  rises  in  London  at  8  h.  6  m., 
and  sets  at  3  h.  5 1  m.  To-day  there  is  less  than  eight 
hours  of  full  daylight,  more  than  sixteen  hours  of 
night  and  twilight.  Even  at  noon  the  sun  has  little 
power.  His  rays  strike  us  at  a  low  angle,  15°  only. 
On  the  longest  day  he  attains  a  height  of  62°,  more 
than  four  times  as  high  as  at  noon  on  the  shortest 
day. 

The  sunshine  is  not  only  brief  but  faint,  because  of 
the  small  elevation  of  the  sun  at  noon.  Take  any 
definite  part  of  the  earth's  surface,  such  as  a  particular 
field.  If  that  were  turned  full  towards  the  sun  it  would 
receive  the  greatest  possible  number  of  rays  ;  if  turned 
edgewise,  it  would  receive  none  ;  for  any  intermediate 
position  it  would  receive  more  or  fewer  according  to 
its  inclination,  the  amount  being  proportional  to  the 
sine  of  the  angle.  At  62°  it  would  receive  "883,  at  15° 
only  -259  of  the  full  amount,  which  is  taken  as  unity. 

When  the  sun  is  low,  his  rays  pass  very  obliquely 
through  the  earth's  atmosphere,  and  much  light  and 
heat  are  absorbed.  If  the  depth  of  the  atmosphere  is 
taken  at  unity,  a  ray  passing  through  it  at  62°  from 
the  horizontal  plane  will  be  1*133  l°ng>  3'86"4  long 
at  15°. 

The  shortest  day  is  not  on  an  average  of  years  the 
coldest  day,  nor  the  longest  day  the  hottest.  We 
have  to  take  into  account  the  effect  of  foregoing 
temperature.  In  summer  the  surface  of  the  "earth 


THE  SHORTEST  DAY  OF  THE  YEAR    289 

warms  up  steadily  day  by  day,  and  the  maximum 
falls  a  little  later  than  the  longest  day,  viz.  about  July 
14 — 1 6.  In  winter  the  surface  of  the  earth  cools  a 
little  every  day,  and  the  minimum  falls  about  January 
8— 11. 

The  naturalist  is  little  abroad  in  December.  It  is 
Nature's  long  vacation,  and  many  works  of  the  sun  have 
perished  or  are  to  all  appearance  dead.  It  is  the  time 
to  enjoy  the  works  of  man.  The  new  books  lie  in 
the  shops ;  the  fireside  and  the  study-lamp  shine 
bright  "  now  that  the  fields  are  dank  and  ways  are 
mire."  For  those  who  care  nothing  about  books  there 
are  the  theatre  and  concert  and  ball.  Even  the  street- 
lamps  and  the  roll  of  carriages  help  to  dispel  gloom. 

No  doubt  there  is  much  to  be  seen  and  studied 
after  the  leaves  have  fallen  and  before  the  blood  stirs 
again  in  the  veins  of  Nature.  The  threads  of  the 
web  of  Life  are  being  gathered  up.  Careful  packing 
and  housing  there  must  needs  be  ;  there  are  seeds  to  be 
protected  against  frost,  pupae  to  be  hidden  where  the 
birds  cannot  find  them  ;  the  soil  has  to  be  fertilised 
against  a  fresh  crop.  In  December,  dark,  cold  and 
wet,  multitudes  of  living  things  hold  their  life  some- 
what as  did  the  shipwrecked  Ulysses,  heaped  over 
with  leaves  on  the  Phaeacian  shore,  "as  when  a 
man  has  hidden  away  a  firebrand  among  black  ashes 
on  a  lonely  farm,  where  there  are  no  neighbours,  care- 
fully saving  the  seed  of  the  fire,  that  he  may  not  have 
to  go  in  search  of  the  kindling  spark." l  Life  is  still 
warm  in  the  branches  that  seem  so  dead,  in  the  fallen 
1  Odyssey,  end  of  Book  V. 

U 


290 


ROUND  THE  YEAR 


fir-cones,  in  the  invisible  eggs  of  Insects,  in  countless 
particles  that  we  cannot  distinguish  from  dust  and 
sand  and  rotting  leaves.  The  very  ground,  frozen 
hard  and  covered  with  grey  stubble,  is  rich  in  hope, 
and  holds  the  promise  of  many  a  spring  to  come. 


FIG.  72.— Flowering  branch  of  Hazel  (see  p.  81). 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ADDER'S  tongue,  i 
Alder,  flowers  of,  73,  76 

nuts  of,  79,  279 

Alpine  and  maritime  plants,  225 
Ancients,      their     sentiment     for 

scenery,  230 
Angora,  39 
Animals,  cold  endured  by,  7 

recovering  after  freezing,  6 
Ants,  251 

Archseopteryx,  feather  of,  260 
Autumn  Winds  and  Winter  Floods, 

278 

BEAMSLEY  Fell,  Corn-rigs  of,  103 
Beech,  bud  of,  126 
Bilberry,  227 
Birch,  flowers  of,  80 
fruits  of,  74,  86 
Birds,  fruit-eating,  in  frost  of  1895, 

31 

in  mid-winter,  26 
in  snowy  weather,  27 
perishing  of  cold,  27 
which  sing  in  winter,  26 

Blooms,  Midsummer,  142 

Bone,  Mechanics  of,  155 

Botany  of  a  Railway-station,  137 
language  of,  208 

Bryony,  236 

Buds,  121 

Bulb  of  Onion,  72 

Bulbs,  65 

Buried  in  the  Snow,  25 

Butterflies,  Cabbage  White,  158 
Hair  Streak,  179 


Peacock,  178 

Small  tortoise-shell,  178 

Swallow-tail,  180 

CABBAGES  and  Turnips,  183 

Cabbage  White  Butterflies,  158 

Caddis- worms  in  Wharfedale,  36 

Cat,  38 

Caterpillar  on  Snow,  I 

Cold    endured    by    animals    and 

plants,  6 

Combs  of  Animals,  49 
Corm  of  Crocus,66 
Corn-rigs  of  Beamsley  Fell,  103 
Cow  and  Calf,  Ilkley,  32 
Cranberry,  217 
Craven,  Agriculture  in,  105 
Crocuses,  64 
Crowberry,  21 1 
Cuckoo,  107 
Cup  and  Ring  Marks,  34 

DEPTH    to    which    the    ground 

freezes,  28 
Desert  plants,  224 
Dog,  38 
Duckweed,  192 
Dytiscus  swimming  beneath  Ice, 

3 

EVERGREEN  Plants,  226 

FALL  of  the  Leaf,  270 
Feather,  Structure  of,  259 
"  February  fill-dyke,"  47 
Flower-haunting  Insects,  248 


294 


INDEX 


Flowering  Currant,  bud-scale  of, 

123 
Frost,  depth  to  which  it  reaches, 

28 

effect  on  injurious  Insects,  32 
effect  on  marine  animals,  31 
fruit-eating  Birds  in,  9 
Furze  in,  31 
of  1895,  30 
water-mains  in,  29 
Fruits    and    seeds    dispersed    by 

currents,  284 
Fungi,  habitats  of,  139 
Furze  in  frost  of  1895,  31 

GIRDLED  pupa?,  179 

Gossamer,  240 

Grasses,  145 

Gray's  Tour  in  north  of  England, 

231 
Grouse  in  winter,  27 

HABITATS  of  Fungi,  139 

of  Insects,  139 
Hair-streak  Butterfly,  179 
Harvey  on  Insects,  165 
Hay-time,  143 
Hazel,  flowers  of,  73,  80 

fruit  of,  8 1,  87 
Heather,  211 
Hoar-frost,  15,  21 
Honey-sucking  Insects,  249 

ICHNEUMONS,  182 
Insect-pupae  in  winter,  I 
Insects,  flower-haunting,  248 
habitats  of,  139 
transformations  of,  164 
in  mid-winter,  3 

JENNER,  108 

LAGRANGE'S  maxims,  199 

Landslips,  33 

Lapland,  cold  winds  of,  223 

Leaf,  Fall  of  the,  272 

Leaves  of  moorland  plants,  210 

Leprosy,  191 

Lilac,  bud  of,  128 

Ling,  211 


MACALISTER  on  mechanics  01 
Bone,  155 

Malfrighi  on  Insect-transforma- 
tions, 166 

Maritime  and  Saline  Plants,  225 

May  erne,  165 

Meloe,  89 

Microgaster,  183 

Midsummer  Blooms,  142 

Mimicry  of  Bees  and  Wasps,  252 

Moon,  54 

Moon  wort,  2 

Moorland  Plants,  208 

Moufet's  Theatrum  Insectorum, 
165 

Mountains,  the  Love  of,  229 

Muscatel,  flower-bud  of,  135 

NARDUS,  215 

Negative  exceptions,  79,  229 

OIL-BEETLE  (Meloe),  89 

PAL^EARCTIC  plants  and  animals, 

206 

Paramos,  vegetation  of,  219 
Peacock  Butterfly,  198 
Petrarch,    his     ascent    of    Mont 

Ventoux,  230 
Plants,  cold  endured  by,  6 

RAILWAY-STATION,     botany    of, 

137 
Reaumur  on  pupae  of  Butterflies, 

177 

Redbreasts,  26 
Reversed  Spiral,  236 
Rock-crystal  of  Alps,  24 
Rousseau  on  Swiss  scenery,  231 
Routine,  199 
Ruminant  colon,  239 
Rush,  218 

SACCOGLOTTIS  AMAZONICA,  284 
Saddleback,  ascent  of,  232 
Scurvy,  191 

Shortest  Day  of  the  Year,  288 
Simon's  Seat,  229 
Simulium-larvce  in  winter,  3 
Sitaris,  101,  102 


INDEX 


295 


Snow,  air  and  water  in,  24 

buried  in  the,  25 

flakes,  1 1 
Stipules,  127 
Summer  twilight,  140 
Swammerdam     on      Insect-trans 

formations,  1 66 
Sycamore,  37 

buds  of,  121 

leaf  of,  126 

TADPOLE,  intestine  of,  239 

Tennyson  as  a  naturalist,  252 

Thecla,  179 

Tortoise-shell  Butterfly,  178 

Transformations  of  Insects,  165 

Turnips,  183 

Twilight,  Summer,  140 


UNDER  the  Crags,  32 
Unisexual  flowers,  83,  88 


WATER-MAINS  in  frost,  29 
Weeds,  201 
Wettest  months,  47 
White,  Gilbert,  3,  8 
Willow,  flowers  of,  82 

fruits  of,  84 
Wind,  its  effect  upon  leaves,  220 

and   the   dispersal   of   seeds, 
283 

XENOPHON  on  Hunting,  230 
Xerophilous  plants,  224 

YORKSHIRE  FOG,  145 


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